"Revelations of Professor Slack"

[dochermes]

"Revelations of Professor Slack"

7/6/2008

I.

The unexpected pounding on his office door made Bane almost fall out of his chair. He had been leaning way back, brooding about an upcoming court appearance where he had to testify, and had not expected any visitors. The Dire Wolf leaped to his feet and rushed toward the open door to his small waiting room. His left hand went automatically to the long-barrelled Smith & Wesson 38 holstered at his belt where the black sport jacket hid it.

The waiting room was not large enough to hold much more than two plain wooden chairs with an end table holding a stack of ancient magazines, a calendar and clock on the wall. Up in one corner of the ceiling was a black and white closed-circuit monitor he had installed himself that showed the short hallway just beyond the outer door.

His caller was a tall black woman he had never seen before. She stood well over six feet, solidly built with huge breasts and wide hips in a tight yellow polo shirt and short white skirt. She was wearing clunky platform shoes that added another two inches to her height, and a brown leather handbag was slung over one shoulder with a gold chain. The woman had processed hair pulled back in a tight bun and gigantic gold hoop earrings that slapped again her shoulders. Ignoring the bell, she knotted her fist again and thumped it hard enough against the door that Bane was worried she might break it off its hinges.

The Dire Wolf opened the door and raised one hand in a calming gesture. "I'm here, I'm here. Settle down. What seems to be the trouble?"

The woman grinned in honest delight and shoved past him as if he had invited her in. "I'm purely glad to meet you, Mr Bane. Those fools don't deserve a good woman like me helping them but then I always did have a big soft heart."

More bemused than annoyed, Bane closed the hallway door and watched her stride forcefully into the office. She's assertive enough, he thought. Bane decided to go along with it for the moment. The big woman yanked out a chair that sat in front of the desk and dropped down heavily into it, crossing her legs one over the other and watching him as if he was making her wait.

The Dire Wolf went over behind his desk and seated himself in his swivel chair. "You seem to know who I am, but I don't remember meeting you."

"Oh, you'd remember me," she chuckled. "I do make an impression. I is Devil Pie, that's what every living soul knows me as. And I have heard about you for many years, Mr Dire Wolf."

"I see," Bane said. "Why do you need a private investigator?"

"Hah! Thass a good one. As if you was nothing but a common detective. I know about what comes out in the middle of the night, the wanderers in back alleys what no one meets and lives to tell the tale. And you have rid this hellhole city of lots of 'em. You a regular ghostbreaker and monster hunter."

"Fair enough. You have a problem involving the supernatural, then?" Bane's Kumundu training was analyzing her movements and body language, the subvocal tremors in her voice, even how her pupils dilated and contracted. It was an automatic process with him by now. He concluded she was telling the truth as she knew it, was not under the influence of drugs or alcohol even though the tang of pot clung to her hair, and was speaking freely. He was not infallible of course and could still be deceived by a skilled liar. For the moment, he would accept her words at face value.

"I came to see you because I'm worried about this fool I know, he a skinny white boy named Spacey. Not my boyfriend you understand, hell no I can do better than that. But he's all right. He stood by me when I was goin' through real hard times and never asked to be repaid in cash or booty. That's a friend. But ever since he started chilling with this crazy old buzzard Professor Slack-"

That got Bane's attention. "He's a disciple of Professor Slack?"

"If you call it that," Devil Pie scoffed. "That old con man visits him and eats all his food, charges him to learn how to breathe proper and how to empty his mind of thought NOT that Spacey needs any help with that haw haw."

"I've heard some contradictory things about this Professor Slack," the Dire Wolf said tentatively. "Your experience with him is that he's a con artist?"

"No. Doubt. Boutit. He don't give the same answer twice. All his fancy talk about cosmic truth and inner balance is a big hot steaming pile if you ask me." The big woman suddenly seemed to grow serious, even grim. She leaned forward and her amber eyes watched Bane intently. "But Spacey can waste his time any way he wants, he's a big boy. What worries me is the weird little freaks following him."

With that, the atmosphere in the office changed tangibly. Bane had been listening with some amusement and interest, because he rather liked this woman's forthright manner. She was a refreshing change from the agitated clients he usually faced. But with her final sentence, he straightened up and his pale grey eyes stood out vividly under the heavy dark brows.

Devil Pie felt the abrupt tension. She sat back in her chair and uncrossed her legs, watching Bane the way she would watch a real wolf that had appeared in her path. "I... Yeah. Right. These funny little dudes have been trailing Spacey. We both get glimpses of them in doorways or around corners or staring outta windows but then they's gone."

"Describe them."

"They come maybe up to my belt buckle. They wear long rain coats. They got pointed noses and bristly black hair like a hedgehog. That's all I ever catch before they's gone. Sometimes they call to us and they say, 'Where is the orange cat?'"

"Oh, now you've got my interest," Bane said. "Do either of you have such a cat, by any chance?"

"Nope. I did have a Daschund once one of them little weiner dogs you know? Never had a cat." She raised one thick finger with a beautifully manicured nail. "And two three times there has been notes left. Here, I brung you one."

As she took a folded piece of material from her handbag, Bane gestured for her to place it on the desk. He took a pair of black latex gloves from his jacket pocket and tugged them on. "Besides you, who has touched this?"

"Nobody. Spacey din't even see it, I finds it on his door and came right here," she answered, unable to keep concern from showing in her voice. "All it says is, 'where's the orange cat?' in this creepy lettering..."

Holding the sheet under the reading lamp on his desk, the Dire Wolf studied it silently for a long moment. He scraped something off its surface with the blade of a letter opener and sniffed it. Finally, he turned those cold eyes on his visitor. "This gets more serious by the moment, Devil Pie. There's nothing unusual about the paper, but I think lab tests will show this was written today in blood."

II.

Bane had decided to take Devil Pie as a client, with his purpose being to find out who was shadowing her and this Spacey Sloop, and if possible to deter them. He took a dollar from her as a token payment, entered details in his ledger and gave her a receipt. As part of this process, he had to see some ID and found that her name was Wilma Jean Clagthorn, she was twenty-eight years old and her legal address was a town called Tree Stump, Louisiana.

"Where does the nickname 'Devil Pie' come from?" he asked.

"Damfino," she answered blithely, studying his face as if memorizing it.

The note had been sealed inside a vinyl envelope and locked in his desk for the moment. Bane rose and offered his hand. To his discomfort, she didn't shake it in a businesslike manner but simply held on to it. Her skin was dry and very warm. After a long moment that grew increasingly awkward, he disengaged himself. "I'd like to speak with your friend Spacey," he said.

"Okie. He home, he only works three days a week. His apartment's down in the Village."

Steering her toward the door, the Dire Wolf asked, "What does he do for a living, Devil Pie?"

"Sits in an office playing on the 'puter." She politely allowed him to open the door for her and waited in the hall while he turned off the office lights and closed both the inner and outer doors. As they walked through the lobby, Devil Pie was still staring at him. "I hear you can outrun a car."

Bane made the faintest snorting noise. "Don't believe everything you hear."

"How about the time you killed a tiger with just a knife, then?"

He shook his head and escorted her out onto a busy sidewalk on Third Avenue. It was a muggy July day and people passing by looked cranky. "I'm not a superman, Devil Pie. I've had some training and I try to stay in shape. That's all."

The truth was that Jeremy Bane was in fact more than twice as quick in his reflexes and actions than a normal Human. He had always been that way, even as a child growing up alone on the streets. Thirty years of studying Kumundu under Teacher Chael, as well as picking up techniques from a wide variety of martial arts masters, had made him one of the most formidable fighters in the Midnight War. There was also the enhanced healing from decades on the Tagra tea, which enabled him to rapidly recover from trauma that would kill a normal Human. But he downplayed all that as much as possible.

"We'll have to walk a few blocks," he explained as he turned left and headed south. "I keep my car in a garage on 40th Street."

Devil Pie tried to take his arm but he deftly avoided it. "You kinda hot," she said bluntly. "I wouldn't mind a weekend with you. I wouldn't mind a bit."

To his surprise, Bane felt a twinge of temptation. This woman was so flamboyant and confident that he instinctively liked her. "Thanks, but I have a girlfriend. She's out of town at the moment."

"It's your loss," Devil Pie laughed. Her height and lush figure in the tight polo shirt and short skirt were drawing stares which she obviously relished. "I would SPOIL you for other wimmin."

"I can believe that," Bane replied as they neared the Imperial Garage. Suddenly Devil Pie grabbed his arm and yanked violently on him.

"Over there, over there!" she yelled, pointing down the side street they were passing. Bane was gone. Devil Pie blinked and her mouth fell open. He had accelerated so quickly and unexpectedly that it took a second for her to process the information. Bane had shaken off her grip and taken off with startling speed.

As Devil Pie regained her awareness, she saw that the Dire Wolf was stepping back out of a blind alley between two buildings. He visibly relaxed, opened his fists and turned around to rejoin her.

"I can't explain it," he said. "I did see someone standing right there. No more than four feet tall. Tan raincoat down to his ankles. He matched your description, Devil Pie. What I can't figure out is what happened to him. There is only one door in that alley and it's blocked by two full garbage bags. The back wall is six feet eight inches high, I don't see how he could have scaled that in the time it took me to reach him."

Bane folded his arms and exhaled in obvious exasperation. He was taking this case more seriously by the minute.

"Damn, you fast," Devil Pie said. "Why ain't you playin' sports?"

"I always wanted to be a detective," he answered. "Well. Whatever that guy was, we'll keep an eye out for him. Let's go." He led her into the garage, waving hello to the security guard in a booth by the entrance. At the moment, Bane was driving a black Subaru Legacy. On the sunvisor over the steering wheel, small green and blue LED lights blinked steadily. If they had remained lit or had turned red, he would have approached the car expecting someone had tampered with it.

Devil Pie went over and stood by the passenger door, giving him an expectant look. Bane compliantly chirped the locks open with his key and held the door for her. He was finding her odd mixture of old-fashioned manners and brash directness entertaining. Bane caught himself and clamped down hard on that reaction. This was a case in its earliest stage. Everything she had told him could be a lie, she could be drawing him into a trap set by any of a number of bitter enemies he had made. He could not let his guard down.

III.


It turned out that Spacey Sloop actually lived in Chelsea, on the western reaches of 14th Street. The neighborhood was undergoing gentrification. Literally across the street was a stretch of boutiques and coffee shops and art galleries aimed at the well-off but Spacey's apartment building was seedy and dingy, and could fairly be called a tenement. After ten minutes, Bane grabbed a parking spot just as a delivery truck was pulling away from it.

As they got out of the Subaru and closed the doors, a series of low clicks sounded when the Trom security installed by Megan Salenger armed itself. Devil Pie raised one pencilled-in eyebrow but said nothing.

The Dire Wolf stood on the sidewalk in front of the apartments, even more suspicious and alert than usual. He saw no sign of any of the odd little men. Almost reluctantly, he relaxed slightly and followed Devil Pie up four concrete steps to an outer door that was ajar. In the tiny foyer, a row of buttons and name tags stretched vertically on the wall.

Pressing one of the buttons got a static-disorted voice. "Yeah?"

"Hey you dummy, it's me," Devil Pie said sweetly. "I got someone here you need to meet."

"Uh, okay. Come on up." The glass inner door unlocked with a buzz and they stepped through to start up a flight of narrow, well-worn stairs.

"I don't trust that elevator," she explained. "Sooner or later, it gonna fall and I ain't gonna be in when it does!"

At the fifth floor landing, they went over to a door that had brass numbers 501 nailed to it. On the floor outside the door was a feeble potted plant that seemed about to give up the struggle. The door had a white button but Devil Pie ignored it and started pounding with her fist as if she was trying to frighten everyone in the building. Her approach worked, at least as far in that the door immediately opened.

Bane took in Spacey Sloop instantly, calculating if the man was a possible threat and dismissing the possibility as remote. Spacey was an inch or two under six feet, thin but out of shape with undeveloped arms showing under the short-sleeved white shirt. Dark slacks and loafers with thin white socks added to the bland impression. Spacey had an inoffensive enough face, with a pointed nose and weak chin, his black hair combed straight back and slicked down with gel.

Devil Pie gave him a ferocious hug that picked him up off the floor and landed a wet smacking kiss on his cheek.

"Glad to see you," Spacey said weakly. "Uh, who...?"

"Honey, this is the man I told you I was going to see," she announced. "The Dire Wolf his own self, this is Jeremy Bane."

They dutifully shook hands, then Spacey gestured behind him to a man sitting in an easy chair. "Mr Bane, this is my spiritual advisor, Professor Slack."

By this point, the Dire Wolf had adjusted to the likelihood that this case was going to be filled with more bizarre characters than usual. Professor Slack more than met that expectation.

Bane took in a dozen aspects of the man that all seemed contradictory. Professor Slack was short and stout, with a bald head and a bristly white beard that reached past his sternum. He was wearing what looked like a full-length long-sleeved nightgown of heavy yellow linen, with brown brogans showing underneath. In a round face, bright blue eyes returned Bane's appraisal and the man showed excellent teeth when he grinned.

The strange thing was that, going by the front of the neck and the backs of the open hands resting on the chair arms, the Dire Wolf judged the man to be in his late 60s, maybe hitting 70. Yet the face was not particularly lined or wrinkled, even around the eyes. The arms and legs were thick and solid, indicating considerable physical strength. The man's head was not shaved- even seated directly under a reading lamp, the bald cranium showed no trace of stubble or uneven skin tones- but the beard was healthy and glossy, not dried out. The fingernails were clean and well-tended.

Also, although the yellow gown was simple and evidently meant to indicate ascetic living, the heavy brogans were costly and in good shape, nearly new.

There were a lot of details here that seemed to contradict each other. As he stepped forward, Bane realized that the old guru was checking him out the same way and the old man seemed amused by what he saw. Slack did not rise up from the overstuffed easy chair but raised a broad hand in friendly greeting.

"Hello, Professor," said Bane evenly. "I used to listen to your radio program REVELATIONS OF PROFESSOR SLACK on WNEW."

"Ah, that was ages ago. Rewarding experience, though, kind of like working a spiritual distress hotline," said the Professor. He sounded educated, with a mellow soothing voice that must have been comforting to his disciples. But a mocking undertone lurked just beneath the surface. "So tell me, pal, what brings you here? Are you at the end of your rope? Life not making any sense?"

"I'm here as part of an investigation," Bane answered. He had not moved from where he stood just inside the door. "Devil Pie has hired me to look into some recent events that worry her."

"Those little men...!" moaned Spacey. He had been holding Devil Pie with one arm around her waist, but now he released her and went over to collapse on the couch. The big woman immediately joined him, giving Bane a concerned glance.

The Dire Wolf had taken in the rather rundown apartment in one quick survey. The thin threadbare rug in front of the couch, the old TV that stood on a cabinet filled with DVDs, the standing lamps with dim 25 watt bulbs, the closed doors that likely hid a bedroom and bathroom... There were three thick hardbound books on the end table by Spacey, each credited to Professor Slack. I KNOW MINE AND MINE KNOW ME, INTRODUCTION TO GOODBYE and EVERYONE NEEDS MORE SLACK. It was not a cheery sight. A vague odor of cabbage lingered in the air. Bane took in all the details in a flash, from the beat-up denim jacket hanging on a nail on one door to a travel poster of Hawaii thumbtacked to a wall to a bowl that held remnants of breakfast cereal with a spoon sticking out of it on an end table. Once he was satisfied no one else was hiding in that apartment, his full attention went back to Professor Slack.

"Spacey," said the old bearded sage to his disciple, "Wake up. This young fellow doesn't trust me. He suspects I know something about these little men that you and our friend keep seeing."

"I haven't said that," Bane objected.

"Oh, but I know," the Professor chuckled and closed one eye. "I have my ways."

"I'm well aware you can read our thoughts," Spacey put in. "Sometimes it scares me."

Bane stepped closer, positioning himself so he could watch all three people at the same time. He was reacting as if his training considered Professor Slack a threat, even though logically he couldn't see how. "You haven't seen these men yourself, Professor?"

"Not recently," the old guru admitted. "But I have encountered them in the past. They're as real as a hangover after a three-day bender. Some call them Snarks."

"All right. What are they? What are their intentions toward Spacey and Devil Pie?"

Professor Slack closed one eye knowingly. "Ah. Cut to the chase, eh. I believe they are manifestations from the astral plane. Someone with knowledge but not wisdom has been summoning them. Snarks can do harm. I'm been giving Spacey some advice which in his usual boneheaded way he refuses to take. He's too much!"

"Hey! I refuse to be jerked around--" Spacey began irritably but Devil Pie hushed him.

"Professor, who do you know who is capable of calling these... Snarks?" Bane asked.

"Only a handful of people in this stinkhole of a city could do it," the old man said. He leaned back and folded his hands across his belly, hiding them under his beard as he did so. "Most of 'em have reached a stage of enlightenment not to mention plain old common sense not to mess with Snarks."

"Narrow it down for me," Bane said with just a hint of menace in his voice as he stepped closer. "Give me a name or two."

"You watch it! You're jumping up and down on thin ice, buddy." Professor Slack jumped to his feet as easily as any teenager might. He stood a foot shorter than Bane, but the broad shoulders and massive limbs made him seem formidable. "There are things you're not meant to know."

Bane was not intimidated in the slightest. His tone did not change. "Fine. Maybe it'd be better if you left now so I can discuss the situation freely with these two."

"Don't you wish. No, I guarantee I'll get to the bottom of this before you do." The bearded wise man let out a heavy sigh that emptied his lungs and returned to the couch. "Kids today..."

"Man, you two should not be bristling your fur and hissin' at each like tomcats on a fence," said Devil Pie. "Ain't you on the same side?"

"She's right. I'd feel better if you guys worked together." Spacey had laced his fingers together in front of him and one knee was twitching up and down. "Don't get off on the wrong foot with each other."

The Professor swung around and regarded Bane sourly. "So. You are lost, son. You still feel guilty about not being able to save your friends, eh? I can feel the weight you carry. That Halloween years ago.."

The Dire Wolf did not take the bait. He had been expecting some sort of mind games. "I'm not the issue here. Are you going to tell us about who might be summoning the Snarks?"

"Oh, hell, why not. I think it's a loser who tagged along behind me for years. He wanted inner peace without actually doing anything to create it. I knew him as Herbert Weissberg but he calls himself Humble Modest now."

IV.

All four of them climbed into the Subaru for the drive uptown. Bane had considered investigating this Humble Modest character by himself but he decided it was better to keep all three of the participants in this case within view as he got to know them better. Devil Pie sat in the front passenger seat, cranked up the radio to an R&B station and contentedly hummed along.

In the back, Spacey Sloop and Professor Slack settled down to a heated exchange. Listening closely, Bane began to modify his opinions about the bearded guru. Spacey was seriously confused about life and a bit needy, clinging emotionally to his spiritual advisor. Professor Slack seemed abrasive and uncaring at first but Bane realized the old man was actually giving sensible advice.

"You take small steps," the Professor said. "Don't try to change yourself completely all at once. Cleaning is good for the spirit. Listen, bub, take it from me. Get in the habit of never leaving a room empty-handed. When you go into the kitchen, take that dirty plate from lunch with you. When you go to the bathroom, pick up that shirt you threw on the chair and put it in the hamper. You're going there anyway."

"Yeah, but my problem is facing the emptiness of life..." began Spacey but he was cut off sharply.

"You want my wisdom or not?" demanded the old man. "Trust me on this. Your apartment will suddenly be neater and less cluttered. You'll feel better about everything. When you go from the kitchen to the living room, bring a damp cloth or sponge with you. While you're killing your brain cells watching that stupid TV, wipe stuff. The end table, the lamps, your phone. Then you'll start to notice how much better everything looks..." He broke off suddenly and leaned forward to tap Bane on the shoulder from behind. "You got something to say, pal?"

"Sounds like good advice to me," the Dire Wolf replied. "I agree with it."

"Hah. That's what I like to hear. What else is eating you up, Spacey?"

"Professor, I feel empty inside, life is so confusing. Sometimes I feel like life is out to hurt me personally," Spacey confessed.

From the front seat, Devil Pie yelled, "Is a tough world, Jack! You got to get offa your ass and look life in the eye and tell life you ain't scared of it." She lowered her voice. "Works for me."

"That's instinctive insight," Professor Slack said. "She knows whereof she speaks, Spacey."

"But why is there so much misery in the world?" Spacey wailed. "Why do innocent people suffer? All I want from you is an answer."

"What you want," scoffed the Professor, "Is someone to hold your hand and read you a bedtime story and bring you a glass of water in the middle of the night."

"Sorry to interrupt," Bane said as he made a right turn. "We're on Tenth Avenue. Going past 21st Street now."

Professor Slack said, "Good. Up by 27th, find a spot. We're going to a place called 'Clear Sight.' Sounds like an opthalmologist if you ask me, har har."

It took eleven minutes to find an open parking spot. When he was working alone around Midtown, Bane had found it quicker to walk most of the time. Lt Montez had mentioned getting a special permit for him to use illegal zones, but Bane had disliked the idea. Those areas were usually kept open for good reasons. Finally, he saw someone getting into their car on 25th. The Dire Wolf stopped, waiting for that man to pull out and then parallel parked while people honked their horns and yelled. That didn't even register with him. He had learned to drive in Manhattan.

They all disembarked and started walking up toward 27th Street. As they hiked, Bane asked the Professor if he knew anything about an orange cat and got a non-commital answer about how there were lots of strays in the city, both feline and human. Spacey began his questions again, but the Professor told him to save it for later. He promised to sit up all night explaining how the universe works if Spacey wanted.

Bane led the way. He noticed that when he passed close to Professor Slack, he felt a distinct warmth coming from the silver daggers sheathed on his forearms under his clothes. That was a sign of gralic force. Maybe, he thought uneasily, there was more to this eccentric old guru than met the eye...

On the corner stood an old storefront with its long picture window painted white. Elaborate blue letters outlined in gold spelled out CLEAR SIGHT INSTITUTE - PSYCHIC INSTRUCTION. Under that was added REIKI- PAST LIFE EXPERIENCES- NOTARY PUBLIC. The last two words seemed incredibly jarring in their mundane effect. Bane stepped up to grasp the door knob but, just before he made contact, the door swung outward.

Standing there was a slightly chubby teenage girl with strawbery blonde hair in two pigtails. She was wearing a loose white smock that reached to her knees, with faded jeans and sandals. Her bow was deep enough that her spine showed to them. "Welcome pilgrims. Please call me Roberta. The Enlightened One has been expecting you."

"The Pretentious One is more like it," muttered Professor Slack. He stroked his stiff beard as if to make it bristle even more and snorted. "She just saw us through the door."

Bane led the way as they stepped into a large open space that had been stripped down to the bare wooden floor. In each corner were two red candles on curved metal stands, and thin hard mats were spaced along the floor. Painted on one wall was a Yin-Yang symbol six feet across. No one was in the room at the moment.

The girl escorted them silently down a hallway. On the walls were an ecelectic assortment of posters depicting the chakras, satellite photos of the Earth, and nutritional charts. Humble Modest sure seemed to be covering a wide range of approaches, Bane thought. They reached the end of the hall, where an office door with a frosted glass panel awaited them.

Wedged into the hinges of the door was a piece of white paper with large scrawled words, 'Where Is the Orange Cat?' As soon as she saw this, Roberta gasped and hurried to snatch the paper away. She swung around. Her face had gone so pale that freckles across her nose looked black. "The Enlightened One will see you now," she repeated in a suddenly shaky voice.

"What do you know about this orange cat?" demanded Bane.

"It's nothing. Nothing. Just someone playing a prank." Roberta opened the door and ushered them through while remaining out in the hall herself. Bane and his three companions found themselves in a typical waiting room with a row of plastic chairs facing a desk that sat in one corner. Next to the desk was a plain wooden door, which the seated man seemed to be guarded.

On the desk was an open laptop, stacks of papers filling IN and OUT trays, and an old-fashioned landline phone. As they entered, a slightly built Asian man in a dark blue business suit got up and inclined his head toward them.

"We have been expecting you," the man said. Bane pegged him as Korean with a few years in California, just over forty years old and underweight. The suit was tailored and of good quality but there was something heavy in the right front pocket of the jacket. The Dire Wolf immediately calculated it was a weapon, not a gun but something like brass knuckles or a short length of metal pipe. Very odd to find on someone who worked in a spiritual awareness center.

"Yeah right," growled Professor Slack. He hitched up his yellow robe as if adjusting shorts worn under it and moved up to the desk. "Let's talk with Herman, I mean Humble Modest."

As the old man spoke, the inner door swung open on its own with no one near it. Bane glanced up at the mechanism fastened at the top of the door and smiled wryly to himself. A simple radio control that opened the door on a signal. Professor Slack caught the expression on Bane's face and laughed.

"This guy is full of cheap tricks to impress the hicks," the old sage said, pushing past the Dire Wolf into the inner office. The room resembled a spa of some kind, with chimes hanging from the ceiling, a burbling fountain in one corner which circulated water from a marble post down into a pool, and dozens of hanging plants. There was no desk or chairs, just huge soft pillows arranged in piles. In the air, a scent of sandalwood lingered.

Seated crosslegged on a cushion was a man wearing a lilac-blue full length robe very much like Professor Slack's. His head was shaved and his cadaverous face had sunken cheeks and a beaky nose which made him resemble a vulture rather than an ascetic.

"Enter freely and with a hopeful heart," he intoned. "Welcome to the Clear Light, my dear friends."

"Hiya, Herman," said the Professor, striding in and plopping down on some of the cushions. "Still fleecing the rubes, huh?"

"As long as we are using names best forgotten," answered the bald man, "Hello, Fred. Still in the same biz yourself?"

Spacey and Devil Pie decided to sit down on some cushions themselves. Bane remained standing, scanning the room for places where someone might be hidden. There was an open door in the rear, with long strings of amber beads hanging down in the way to the next room and he couldn't see if anyone was there. He had the habit of securing any space he found himself in and this alarmed in. The Dire Wolf went over to pass through the beads and found only a bathroom with no one in it. He returned as the Professor and Humble Modest had changed their conversation to excrutiating courtesy.

"The West is ready to embrace enlightenment," Humble Modest explained in the most mellow and tranquil tones imaginable. "Material goods and creature comforts have not brought deep spiritual satisfaction."

"That's exactly what I'm saying--" began Spacey Sloop but his voice trailed off.

"A deeper wisdom would see that balance between East and West is the true path to happiness," Professor Slack intoned. He was using the same polished tones as his rival. "Like the symbol of Tao, it is the interaction of opposing opposites which produces the most creative results."

Bane had returned to stand directly in front of Humble Modest and he interrupted with a voice that had nothing soothing or polished about it. "What do you know about that orange cat?"

That caught the bald soothsayer off guard and he visibly flinched. "Orange cat? Why..? Is that a symbol of something, my son?"

"Don't call me your son," Bane snapped. "I'm here to find out about these notes that are turning up asking about an orange cat. Give me an answer!"

The authority and confidence in Bane's attitude usually produced quick results. Humble Modest replied at once, "I have heard rumors of some sort of orange cat that is sought by dark forces," he began. "But.. I can't say more than that."

"What about the Snarks?" yelled Professor Slack.

That was the tipping point. Humble Modest struggled up onto his feet from the pillows and began shooing them all out with vigorous sweeping motions of both arms. "I must ask you to leave now," he said. "Your vibrations are hostile. You are bringing me down."

As Spacey and Devil Pie got up from the soft pillows with an effort, Professor Slack rose as easily as if he was being pulled up by wires. His age never seemed to show in his motions.

"For someone who charges an arm and a leg to give empty answers, you haven't been too helpful," he snarled at Humble Modest.

As the other three watched him expectantly, Bane waved them to go on. "You guys go. I need to have a few words with this man whether he likes it or not."

"Sir, I said you are dismissed!" Humble Modest made a sweeping gesture with one robed arm.

"Not that easy. How do you think the NYPD will react when I show them a threatening note written in blood? Human blood at that? You'll be down at the 20th Street station in a small room with two bad-tempered cops."

Humble Modest shrank back. "Police? Oh no, I don't think we need to drag the police into this. They are busy enough. I'll tell you what. Let me explain..."

From the corner of his eye, Bane caught motion. There. In the open doorway to the waiting room, one of those little men was grinning at him. The Dire Wolf went from standing still to full leap in a tiny fraction of a second. He was blurring forward, hands out to clutch the Snark when he sensed something moving at his head an instant too late. Everything went white, then black.

V.

As he fought back to awareness, Bane's first coherent thought was 'Walked right into that one.' The front of his head was pounding. Even with the enhanced healing from Tagra, getting knocked unconscious was never something to shrug off. Bane was spared internal bleeding in his skull, blurred vision or dizziness or slurred speech because his body repaired the damage more quickly and completely than a normal Human's would. It still hurt, though. He forced his eyes open despite their resistance and began to comprehend his situation.

He was hanging from his hands, which were tied together at the wrists to something above him. He could feel his toes barely scraping the ground, not enough to support his weight, so the circulation in his hands was being cut off. Bane looked up. He was tied to a vicious-looking metal hook that had been bolted to a ceiling beam. Right behind him was a rough stone wall.

This was an unfinished cellar. A single naked light bulb hung by a cord up near the ceiling to show everything in sharp relief. There wasn't much to see. In one corner was a water heater and an ancient oil-burning furnace with aluminum ducts leading upstairs. Some broken chairs and a box fan were piled in a corner.

Standing well out of reach of any possible kick was Humble Modest. The bald guru stood with his hands concealed in the floppy sleeves of his gown. "Wow. I honestly thought you were going to die the way Kao hit you."

"I'll have a few more surprises for you," Bane said without anger. "That little weirdo was just to distract me?"

"Exactly. Kao was waiting just outside the door and he tagged you. He keeps a roll of quarters in a sock just in case."

The Dire Wolf glanced up at the hook he was hanging from, then turned his attention back to Humble Modest. "What's the point of this? Did you feel that threatened by my mention of the police?"

"No, no, no," the bald man said, waggling his finger in reprove. "Don't think I'm going to explain everything to you. There's no reason why you need to know what's going on."

"Fair enough," Bane said. "But at least tell what's the deal with that damn orange cat?"

Humble Modest froze and his face turned red. He backhanded his prisoner across the face as hard as he possibly could. Although the guru didn't know it, his slap did almost no harm because Bane saw it coming and rolled with it to minimize the impact. There was more noise than effect.

"You've said enough!" growled the bald man as he spun to march furiously out of the cellar. The heavy wooden door slammed behind him and a lock clicked .

Time to escape, Bane thought calmly. These guys were amateurs. He had seen that there was about eight inches between the beam he was hanging from and the ceiling. More than enough. He brought his knees up to his chest, then swung his legs up to cross his ankles over the top of the beam. That took most of his weight off his wrists. He lifted his hands up off the metal hook, let his upper body hang down and then dropped to lightly catch himself on his hands and toes.

Only a few seconds after Humble Modest had left the cellar, his prisoner was loose.

Examining the cords around his wrists, Bane frowned in annoyance. Those were not properly done knots but a tight mess that would take forever to work loose. He sat on the floor and yanked up one pants leg. For many years, he had ordered his boots handcrafted with steel caps on toes and heels. They also each had a slit in the top seam that held a single-edged razor blade. With all the hours of practice he had put in, Bane managed to cut himself free without getting a single nick on his hands.

Replacing the blade into its slit, he stood up and tossed the strands of cord aside. From behind him, a familiar voice said, "Oh, VERY good!'

Bane jumped and whirled around as if he had just been bitten by a snake. There stood a smirking Professor Slack, bald head shining under the bright lightbulb, hands folded behind him.

"I was wondering how you were going to get out of that," the old sage laughed. "You're as good as your reputation, boy."

"What the hell?" Bane's voice had risen an octave as he reacted. "You weren't there a second ago. How did you get in here?"

"Maybe I'm not really here now," Slack said. "This might be just my astral form appearing. Maybe I'm really soaking in a hot tub back on 14th Street."

The Dire Wolf knotted a fist and moved toward the old man. "Let's see if you're solid or not."

"Whoa, whoa. Steady there, son." The Professor pointed at the door. "Don't forget you have more urgent concerns."

By this point, Bane had recovered his usual deadpan composure. "I guess you do have some unusual abilities. I never knew any Human who could travel like that without using an Eldar crystal. Teleportation, eh?"

"I have my ways. Listen to me, pal. I didn't want to say anything in front of Spacey and Devil Pie. They're okay kids but they are not ready to learn what lurks in the spaces between spaces."

"Go on. You've got my attention."

"That orange cat is the key to what Humble Modest and Holy Kao are up to," the Professor told him soberly.

"Oh, come on! Holy Kao? This case has more screwy names than I can handle."

"Says the man called Dire Wolf," Professor Slack said. "My own name suggests what you need. Cut yourself some slack. There is not enough slack in you, you're wound up so tight you can hardly think."

"I'm not one of your clients," Bane snapped. "Save your advice. Right now, I'm getting out of here. I guess you're coming along?"

"Whatever happens, happens."

"Yeah, right." Bane slapped around his person and found that the enemy had taken his gun, his Link and a few devices while he was unconscious. But they had not discovered the silver daggers on his forearms, which were sheathed in high-density silicone molded to feel like human muscle when touched. And there were over a dozen gadgets hidden in pouches and linings of his clothing that even professional searching might miss.

He opened the outer seam of his left lapel and tugged out a long strand of what looked like rubbery white dough, then patted it into place around the keyhole of the door. As he looked back, he saw Slack holding out a disposable lighter.

"You can use this," the old guru said.

"Yeah, thanks." Bane accepted the lighter, then said, "I didn't know philosophers had pockets in their robes."

"Maybe I'm wearing cargo pants underneath. You never know."

"Thanks for the image. Better get back and cover your ears, Professor. This is going to make some noise." The Dire Wolf lit one dangling end of the dough and then took his own advice, jumping back and turning away with his hands over his ears. The detonation was sharp and excessively loud, echoing back and forth in the cellar.

Not only had the lock been blown completely away, the door was hanging crazily off one hinge and was smoldering as if it might catch fire. Bane stepped up and forced the door all the way open.

"Say, doesn't it make you nervous walking around with explosives sewn into your clothes?" asked Professor Slack. "I'm just sayin'."

"The A17 takes an open flame to ignite it," Bane said absently as he handed the lighter back. "Depending on what I expect to encounter, I carry different gimmicks." He saw a small open area outside the door with another light bulb on a cord and narrow wooden steps with a rickety bannister leading upstairs. "You might want to get behind this door."

"I'm good."

There was no time to talk further. A door slammed open at the top of stairs and footsteps came rapidly down. Grabbing the bannister, the Dire Wolf leaped up the stairs two at a time, moving so quickly that he crashed into two men coming down before they could react. One man was tossed over the side to hit the cement floor below with a wet thud as his head connected first. The second one got smashed against the stone wall so hard that his ribs broke and he almost died immediately from internal damage. Bane threw that one over the side as well to land heavily on the man already there.

Glaring down, he saw that the men wore regular slacks and shoes, but had the knee-length white robes on over their clothes. They were disciples of Humble Modest, all right.

"Bless your pointy little head, but you play rough," offered the Professor from the bottom of the stairs.

VI.

"You saw what they were doing to me. They weren't going to let me walk out alive." Bane was in no mood for banter. He vaulted over the bannister to land lightly as a cat next to the bodies. Both men were dead at this point, he determined. Going through their pockets, he found nothing of interest except his own revolver. The long-barreled Smith & Wesson .38 still had all five bullets in its cylinder. He inspected it quickly before tucking it back into the holster fastened to his belt behind his hip. The rest of his gimmicks were not anywhere on the men.

"Nimble little bugger," Slack added as he watched.

"We probably have a few minutes before someone comes down to find out what happened to their thugs." As the Dire Wolf started up the stairs, he turned to look back down at the bearded sage. "Hey. Where are Spacey and Devil Pie?"

"They took a taxi back to his apartment. Spacey is having his daily anxiety attack," Slack answered.

"Just as well. You should stay back out of the way too." Bane headed up to the open door at the top of the stairs and muttered mostly to himself, "I want to talk to that guy with the roll of quarters in a sock..."

"Like I would miss this," the Professor said, following up the stairs.

Bane emerged in a short hallway. To his right was an open door showing a janitor's closet with mop in bucket, containers of cleaning supplies and a cast iron sink. The door to his left was ajar. The Dire Wolf set himself, breathing deeply and evenly, and opened that door to emerge in the waiting room.

The man called Holy Kao was standing by his desk, reading something on his phone. Hearing the faintest of noises behind him, he started to turn and had only the faintest glimpse of something rushing at him before he was lying stunned on the floor. Bane lowered his fist.

"Not bad, not bad," cackled Professor Slack. "I was looking right at you and didn't see you throw that punch. Is he still among the living?"

"I hope so," Bane replied as he knelt over the man. "I pulled my punch as much as I could." He started going through Kao's pockets and found a thick leather wallet. "Hm. Kao Cho Park. From Seoul. He's been here on a work visa, it seems."

As Holy Kao groaned and stirred uneasily, Bane pinned him down with a hand to the chest. The Asian man tried to sit up, failed and realized why. He shuddered visibly.

"What do you think you're doing? Let me up," he demanded without conviction.

"Hold still or I'll hit you harder the second time." Bane drew back his free hand in a fist and Kao held still. "Now, answer me and you won't get hurt. What is the deal with the orange cat?"

"His name is Sooner. He holds a great secret on his body."

"A little more detail, please." Bane's voice was quiet and not threatening, but there was something there that frightened the man he was holding down.

"That is all I know, I swear it! I am but a humble servant of my mighty master."

Judging by a dozen clues, from subvocal tremors in the voice to the pulse rate he could judge because he had his hand on the man's chest over his heart, Bane decided that Kao was telling the truth. There was a sharp cracking noise and Holy Kao's head smacked back down against the floor. The Dire Wolf slowly rose, flexing his hand to keep it from getting stiff.

"I can see I'm not going to challenge you to racquetball," the Professor said.

Bane turned those cold grey eyes on the old guru. "The orange cat belongs to you."

"How did you find--Oh! What a cheap trick. You chiseler."

"You just confirmed it. Its name is Sooner?"

"Yeah," the Professor said. "Because he'd sooner pee in the house than go outside. He went out to chase girl cats in heat a month ago and never came back." The old man raised and lowered his shoulders. "Sooner has hit the road before but he always came back sooner or later."

"And Humble Modest knew about Sooner because he used to be your disciple and he saw the cat around." Bane came closer to stare down at the bearded sage. "Now we're getting some information to work with. What secret does the cat hold on its body?"

"Nothing but ticks and fleas as far as I know. Don't give me that look. You can't intimidate me, son. I used to drive a taxi in Detroit."

The Dire Wolf backed off a pace, then looked around the office. "I want to do a quick search. You keep your eyes and ears working."

"Not a problem," Professor Slack said. "You know, you've got 'orphan' written all over you, my boy. Did you ever find out who your parents were?"

Riffling through the desk's drawers, Bane raised a warning finger. "Last time I'm telling you. I'm not one of your followers. Don't try to analyze me." Finding the bottom drawer locked, he took a small flat kit from his jacket and began inserting various hooks and probes in the lock until there was a click. Inside the drawer were his confiscated gadgets. The Link communicator, the pencil flares, two dazzle grenades, all intact. He stowed them away in their designated pockets and stood up.

The Dire Wolf stood by the door to the inner office, the room that resembled a New Age spa. He slowed his breathing until the enhanced hearing effect he had been taught kicked in. He could not keep his senses at that peak for too long, but it served well enough to check for danger. "No one in there," he announced for the old man's benefit. As he swung around, he saw that Professor Slack was gone as if he had never been there.

"That guy is getting on my nerves," Bane grumbled.

VII.

Searching the desk further turned up nothing but receipts, various bills in folders marked PAID, a checkbook and bookkeeping ledger, that sort of thing. Bane was disappointed to find no signs of shady records or criminal activities, no drug paraphenalia or even prescription drugs not in original container. As far as Kao's end of it went, the Clear Light seemed to be a legitimate if flaky enterprise. Oh well, he thought sourly. He had always figured his best bet of resolving this case was getting some confessions.

Time to locate Humble Modest. It had been about four minutes since the explosion had sounded in the cellar and the two thugs had been sent down to investigate. If the leader of this cult was still in the building, he must be getting curious by now. Bane moved out into the hall and entered the open meditation chamber.

The red candles had been lit in the corners, giving off a faint acrid aroma.
Seated in the lotus position on a low wooden dais, the former Herman Weissberg was intoning 'Om' in a long droning hum. His eyes were closed and he looked more like a vulture than ever.

As Bane stealthily entered behind Humble, staying in the doorway, he saw three spirals of dark red smoke swirkling in front of the guru. They were only four feet high, growing more solid and taking clearer form. Features emerged quickly, every detail became clear and three of the Snarks materialized to stand there as vividly as if they had been flesh and blood beings born in the normal manner.

The strange little men were all wrapped in beige raincoats that reached their feet. They had full heads of spiky black hair that stood straight up, they had long tubular noses and wide toothy grins. As soon as they spotted Bane, the Snarks began laughing maniacally and pointing at him.

Figuring there was no use in trying to remain concealed after that attention, the Dire Wolf stepped confidently onto the mats which covered the floor. The three weird apparitions formed a semi-circle around him, still snickering and making rude gestures. To one side, Humble Modest gave a start and gave back to full awareness. Seeing Bane free and angry seemed to nearly give him cardiac arrest. He fell off the platform completely and tried to scramble up onto his feet.

"You stay put!" barked the Dire Wolf, pointing an imperative finger at Humble Modest. "I need to talk to your little buddies here."

One of the Snarks yelled, "Nov shmoz ka pop?"

"None of that," Bane replied. "Come on, what's the deal with this orange cat? Why do you guys want to find it?"

The same little man gesticulated wildly. "Foo. Notary sojac."

"All right, you're not helping. Can I talk to another one of you characters?"

A Snark stepped almost within arm's reach and solemnly said, "Potrzebie."

The Dire Wolf turned his head for an instant to see Humble Modest back up on his feet and turning toward the door. "I told you to stay put-" he began but immediately had to swing his full attention back to the Snarks. The little men had pulled tiny ball-peen hammers from somewhere in their coats and were rushing at him. Those tools were swinging right at his knees. Bane hopped to one side and blasted out a front snap kick that caught the nearest Snark to throw it back entirely across the room.

The two remaining Snarks were coming at him fast as rats scuttling across the floor. Bane dropped into a low forward-leaning stance and caught them with blurring jabs which flung the beings back entirely off their feet. The hammers clattered on the floor. Instantly, the Snarks recovered and raced at him again with their hands opening and closing.

The Dire Wolf met them with one of his silver daggers in each hand. Those blades had been blessed by the immortal Eldarin long ago, and they had disrupted many spells and slain many creatures of the night much more fearsome than these little men. His arms swung a figure-eight pattern of glittering metal. The Snarks fell apart into puffs of black smoke which dissipated as the silver daggers broke the forces holding them together.

Wheeling back to face their master, Bane froze into place. Humble Modest was aiming a Beretta right at his face from ten feet away. It was a 92FS model semi-automatic, reliable and accurate, a good choice for someone who was no expert marksman. At that range, the stream of bullets could hardly missing spraying into Bane's head.

"I'm going now," said the bald guru. "Don't move. Don't even blink."

"Weissberg," Bane said slowly. "I'd rather take you alive if I can. But either way, you're not going out that door without answering some questions."

Humble Modest grinned, then yelped loudly and fell forward on his face. Standing two feet behind him, lowering a heavy brogan to the floor, was Professor Slack.

"Hot damn," said the bearded sage. "If anyone ever needed a kick in the ass, he's the one!"

Bane had lunged forward and wrested the gun out of Humble's limp hand. Sheathing his daggers quickly, he seized the man by the robe and lifted him easily up with one hand to toss him back against the wall behind them. Humble was groaning and holding his butt with both hands.

"That hurts, that hurts," he whined. "Fred, you broke something."

"That's the smartest part of you," laughed Professor Slack. "At least it knows what it's doing."

Examining the Beretta, Bane noticed that the safety was still on. He sighed and pocketed the small pistol. "Professor, how did you get behind.. oh, never mind. Let's get this over with. I won't ask again. What does that damn orange cat mean?"

"I can't tell you, I can't." The self-proclaimed wise man was on the verge of breaking down. "I'd be killed if I spilled the beans."

"Hey, look out there," interrupted Professor Slack. He hustled through the door to the street and returnd a second later cradling a mangy orange tomcat that had black tiger stripes but no white in his fur at all. He was not a calico. The cat seemed perfectly content in Slack's arms.

"THAT is what all the fuss is about?" Bane asked. "Bring him over here, Professor." Bane examined the cat but could find nothing out the ordinary. The animal submitted to being poked and prodded with grumpy reluctance and started wiggling. "I don't see anything out of the ordinary. Your cat gets in a lot of fights, Professor. Look at his chewed up ear."

Bane's peripheral vision caught movement behind him. He spun to grab Humble Modest by an arm and used an aikido throw to fling the man hard against the wall. A framed photo fell from its hook to hit the floor and break its glass. Humble remained seated against the wall, shocked at how quickly Bane had seized him and how helpless he had felt in that grip.

"I haven't forgotten that you hung me by the wrists and backhanded me when you thought I was helpless," the Dire Wolf said. "You're not safe right now. Stay still." He turned back to examining the cat. "You know, I think I see something dark under his fur. Has he always had these markings?"

"Hm? No. Can't say he has," admitted the Professor. "Easy there, Sooner, easy. We're not going to hurt you."

Turning back to the terrified Humble Modest, Bane snapped his fingers. "Bathroom!"

The bald-headed guru merely pointed to a folding partition in one corner. Bane strode behind it and emerged a moment later with an expensive razor, shaving cream and a towel soaked in hot water. "I figured that bald head would need a lot of maintenance," he grumbled.

The next few minutes were difficult. Even with Professor Slack holding Sooner and with Bane restraining the cat with his free hand, shaving a patch on the animal's flank was not easy. Several times, Sooner almost wriggled free and both men endured some scratches. Finally, a stretch of nude cat flesh was exposed.

"What are those numbers?" Slack asked in obviously bewilderment.

"Map co-ordinates. United States, northeast," Bane said. He calculated in his head. "New Jersey is my bet."

Behind him, he sensed Humble Modest getting up again. There was a barely visible glitter of silver in the air and a dagger thunked home in the wooden wall right next to the guru's head. Blood trickled from a cut ear that the blade had grazed.

"What do these numbers mean?" yelled Bane.

At this point, Humble Modest broke down completely. He was sweating and trembling visibly. "It's where the money is buried. From four years ago. The Jersey City credit union robbery where two tellers were shot but not killed. Doug and Vince went to prison without talking because they expect to recover it when they're released."

"And your part in all this?" Bane demanded as long as the man had started talking.

"I was driving the car. I thought it would be a non-violent crime. I was with them when they buried the loot. They hid the location on Professor Slack's cat."

Stepping closer to loom up over the shaking man, Bane said in a slow clear tone, "Why the hell would any one think it was a good idea to hide directions to stolen loot by tattoing the numbers on a CAT of all things?!"

"It was Vince's idea, you'd have to ask him, I don't know."

Bane lowered his shoulders and let out a tense breath. "I'm disappointed, to be honest. I was expecting to uncover black magick or the Sulla Chun or some secret sect of assassins. This is so... mundane."

"Walll, me and Sooner are going home," Slack said. "His ribs are showing and I hear the call of the Shadow of the Valley of Flesh."

"Suit yourself," answered Bane. He had memorized the co-ordinates and didn't need the cat. As soon as the Professor left, Bane called the NYPD and connected with Lt Montez. He knew that Montez would be glad to clear up the unsolved credit union robbery and would be particularly pleased to inform the men in prison that the loot they were looking forward to claiming had been confiscated. On the other hand, there were two corpses down in the cellar. Bane would have to claim self-defense one more time and he thought it would work. He had been imprisoned in a cellar expecting to be killed and he had fought back against two attackers.

Still, he had gotten off on so many self-defense claims already he was pushing his luck past any reasonable limit. One judge had sourly claimed he suspected Bane actually had been chasing many of the men he claimed to be defending himself against because they were trying to get away from him as fast as they could.

It was more than three hours later before he was free to go. As the Crime Scene squad took thousands of samples and photos, and after the Medical Examiner removed the bodies, both Holy Kao and Humble Modest were taken away in handcuffs. Bane had repeated his story forward and backwards in excrutiating detail, signed two statements after studying each word and requesting a few changes in phrasing and was finally released with an agreement to meet with the Assistant District Attorney the next day. Stepping outside, he was slightly surprised to see night had fallen.

VIII.

Now he just wanted to see the three principals in this case to tie up any loose ends and get it over with. Devil Pie was his client, after all. He found his car untouched, started it up and swung around to head south again. Across the street from Spacey's tenement, Bane saw two open slots in a row and gratefully eased his Subaru into place. He was beginning to feel tired, a sign that his adrenalin levels were dropping to normal as his brain accepted that the danger was over for the moment.

Crossing the street, the Dire Wolf realized with a jolt of clarity why Professor Slack seemed familiar even though they hadn't met. It was from a case at the very beginning of his career, while he had been working for Kenneth Dred and just learning about the Midnight War. In his organized and specialized memory, he pictured how the Professor would appear without that beard and with some hair. The image of a man named Fred Croswell popped into his thoughts. There had been a manhunt for him because he had escaped from custody when the prison van hit a tree and the doors popped open. Crosswell had made a run for it with two other convicts and was the only one not to be recaptured.

None of this really fell within Bane's area of interest. There was nothing supernatural about any of the convicts. But he had followed every crime around the metropolitan area with intense curiosity in those days and he remembered that Crosswell had been tried for what the papers called "unnatural acts" with a teenager just under the age of consent. And yet... that had been thirty years ago and Crosswell's age then had been given at 56. Was the man really 86 years old? It seemed impossible but this entire case had severely pushed the limits of probability.

If Professor Slack really was escaped convict Fred Croswell, Bane would deeply enjoy revealing the knowledge. Taking the charlatan down a notch would be satisfying. He opened the front door of the apartment building and pressed the button next to the tag SLOOP.

"Yeah. Hello? Hello?"

"It's Bane. I'm here to wrap things up." There was no further comment but the buzzer sounded as the inner door unlocked. The Dire Wolf hurried up the stairs quicker than most people would walk on a level surface. In front of Sloop's door, he rang the bell.

"It's open," came Spacey's voice from within.

Bane entered and froze motionless in shock. Almost within his reach, Devil Pie was bent double over the table with her shorts thrown aside on the floor. Professor Slack had his robe hitched up and was thrusting energetically into her from behind. Both were huffing and puffing and would not have noticed Bane unless he had thrown a bucket of water over them.

Over on the couch, Spacey Sloop was calmly reading the NEW YORK TIMES as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening ten feet away. The orange cat Sooner was curled up next to Spacey. The animal lifted its scarred head and gave Bane a resentful stare.

Without saying a word, Bane went back out in the hall and softly closed the apartment door. He found himself shaking his head and stopped it. He must have seen stranger things in the Midnight War but right he couldn't recall any. Trudging down the stairs, he decided that he wouldn't agree to meet with any of these people again. If he ever wrote his autobiography as Cindy had often urged him to, this was one chapter he would absolutely leave untold.

4/4/2017