"Urban Foraging"
Mar. 18th, 2024 12:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Urban Foraging"
10/5/2016
I.
The most conspicuous man imaginable found a useful receipt in a shopping cart. This close to 9 PM, the upstate New York parking lot was emptying out. Doc Valentine held the scrap of paper up to the light and chuckled. A round beachball of a man, his thinning blond-white hair and bulbous red nose would have been enough to identify him. His ghastly sense of style was much more significant. Kelly-green trousers and jacket, a red shirt with a wide yellow tie and a battered straw hat at a precarious angle combined to make sure no one could overlook him. The thin black cheroot glowed on its end as he inhaled.
"How auspicious," he muttered and pushed the cart toward the entrance of the LUCKY SHOT store. With sublime confidence, he rolled toward the electronics section and located a TV that exactly matched the receipt. It was a Toshiba UHD with a 55" screen and sold for two hundred and fifty-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents. He expected to get at least one hundred and twenty in cash from Spanish Eddie for it. After wrestling the box into the cart, he headed toward the exit and flashed the receipt at a disinterested blue-shirted worker who didn't even ask to see it. Doc Valentine had expected that. With fifteen minutes before closing, most of the minimum wage serfs were tired and preoccupied with the thought of going home. No alarm sounded as he passed between the monitor towers.
Doc Valentine wedged the TV into the trunk of his creaky white Hyundai Sonata, jamming the four bags of clothing to one side. What the devil was taking Isadora and Daisy so long? he wondered. Those two vixens would be his downfall yet. The old reprobate lit a wooden match with his thumbnail and inhaled on another black cigar. He still didn't trust the girls to be conscientous. True, they had no scruples but they were also impatient and took too many chances. Maybe he would have to discard them soon. Georgia was lovely this time of year....
With an excited chatter, the girls trotted toward him, each holding two large bags bursting with merchandise. Isadora was the taller one, a black-haired young woman with bangs and a wide friendly smile. Four inches shorter, with frizzy dark red hair and sharp green eyes, Daisy was saying, "We should be wearing pirate costumes."
"We really should," Isadora agreed.
"Confound you two urchins," drawled their mentor. "I was beginning to fear you had gone to see a feature film, you took so long."
"A job worth doing is worth doing right," Daisy said.
"It really is," added Isadora, arranging their loot in their trunk. "This one old hag was giving me the dirtiest look."
"She was suspicious of you as soon as you walked in," said Daisy.
"She really was," agreed Isadora. The brunette got the trunk closed with some difficulty and slapped her hands together as if dusting them. "So many tags! What a nuisance."
"That heavy duty neodymium magnet works great, though. It pulls them off like magic."
"It really does." Isadora gave Doc Valentine a sweet smile. "That's your third TV in three days, papi."
"No rest for the weary," Doc replied. "We must hasten away." The old scoundrel took a final drag on his cigar and swung around to open his car door, then screamed out loud as he saw the man in black standing next to him.
II.
Both the young women screamed as well when they heard Doc Valentine, then all three unconsciously drew closer to each other.
Unseen and unheard, a tall gaunt man all in black had gotten close enough to Doc Valentine to touch him. The stark light from the lamppost revealed a narrow, feral face with short black hair and pale eyes.
"That was uncommonly thoughtless!" yelled Doc Valentine.
"It really was," added Isadora, peering out from behind the old grifter's rounded shoulders.
"We need to talk," the stranger said quietly. "Send your friends on their way, Doc."
"Papi, who IS this awful man?" asked Daisy.
"My blossoms, this creature of the night is the notorious Jeremy Bane. Some call him the Dire Wolf. I say, my boy, have you come to return the money you owe me?"
"I don't owe you any money," Bane said. "You two, hit the road. Doc and I have some business."
"Uh, this is HIS car," said Daisy. "I can't drive anyway, I'm all messed up on my anxiety and depression and ADHD meds."
"She really is," Isadora added. "I'm surprised she can remember which way is up."
"You need to get going anyway. For your own safety. I'll pay for a taxi to take you two home."
"What, and leave what we boosted? I don't think so," Daisy snorted. "Talk to Papi tomorrow."
Bane had hardly moved a muscle since first appearing, standing as still as a predatory beast waiting in ambush. Now he took a single step forward and something menacing in that simple movement made the two women scuttle back toward the rear of the car.
"Jeremy my lad, I think of you as a son," Doc Valentine began.
"No you don't," the Dire Wolf cut him off. "Listen, Doc. You know where Brokeface was last seen."
"That name has an unfamiliar sound, my boy, perhaps you have me confused with one of the Jones boys..."
The old grifter's sentence was cut off abruptly as the Dire Wolf raised a single forefinger in an imperative gesture. There was nothing inherently threatening in the simple gesture, but Doc Valentine and his two cohorts shrank back as if he had pointed a shotgun at them.
"I'm not after you, Doc," Bane said in the same even tone. "I'm hunting bigger game. Shoplifting doesn't concern me."
"We call it Urban Foraging," offered Daisy, peeking out from behind her taller friend. "It's no big deal."
"It really isn't," Isadora agreed. "These giant corporations rob their employees of millions in unpaid wages every year. Everybody knows that."
Doc Valentine blustered and tilted the straw hat as far back as it could safely perch. "Think of the noble Red Man scouring the forests for nuts and berries and bark. We carry on that hallowed tradition. We forage not from bushes and shrubs but from shelves and hangers."
"Enough already! I don't care about your shoplifting, whatever you call it. I want Brokeface and you are going to take me to him." He added in a slightly deeper tone, "You've seen what I can do when I'm annoyed."
And here Doc Valentine drew himself up, took a deep drag on the black cheroot and replied calmly, "Jeremy my boy, I've come to know you well over the years. You're not going to assault a poor feeble old man who is both unarmed and posing no threat to you. Such crude behavior is not in you, lad. Girls, we are in no peril from this Dire Wolf."
In the instant he hesitated, Bane lost his advantage. It was true. When he had been younger and more aggressive, seizing Doc Valentine by the shirt and shaking him violently would not have been a problem. Now he felt reluctant to do so. Had he grown soft? Maybe. Bane was in his late sixties now, semi-retired from the Midnight War for years, and he definitely had lost some of his callous edge.
But there might be other ways. Rather than brandishing one of the silver daggers to intimidate Doc, Bane reached deep inside his sport jacket to unsnap an inner pocket. He drew out a thick wad of twenty dollar bills held by a metal clip. Seeing Doc Valentine and the girls all lean forward with widened eyes, the Dire Wolf allowed himself a thin smile.
"There's something in it for you, if you lead me to Brokeface," Bane said. He replaced the money and snapped the inner pocket shut. It was located well back under his left armpit and was difficult for even the best pickpockets to reach. "Let's say, two thousand cash for you and one thousand for each of your partners if they stay quiet and out of the way."
"Sounds like a great idea," Daisy said.
"It really does," added Isadora. "I'd feel better with that tucked away, Papi."
Doc Valentine sputtered for a second, made a pantomime of dropping his hat and kicking it back up to his hand with his toe and decided that was enough stalling.
"From the mouths of succulent lasses come often wisdom. Very well, my boy, fling yourself carelessly into the front passenger seat and we shall vault off into the night."
"What, ride around in a car full of stolen merchandise? With a career con man at the wheel? Doc, you have got enough warrants out on you to make a blanket!" Bane objected.
"I would say 'reclaimed,' rather than stolen," Daisy said. "These giant corporations rip off the public with every sale AND they employ child labor in other countries AND they drive out local businesses."
"They really do," agreed Isadora. "Maybe Mr Bane can sit in the back with me."
"My little lilac blossom, you will find that Jeremy Bane is all business," scoffed Doc Valentine. "Moistening your lips and undoing a button on your blouse is wasted on his plebian mind."
Surprising himself, Bane gave in. Using his own finely-tuned car with its built-in weapons and gadgets would have been more prudent most of the time but he had a wary suspicion that these three would steal everything in it they could. If they got hold of some of the anesthetic darts or miniature dazzle grenades or the Trom lock-opener device, they would put them to disastrous use. "All right," he said at once. "We might as well get this over with."
As Doc Valentine got behind the wheel with Daisy up there next to him, Bane and Isadora situated themselves in the rear seat. Bundles of clothing, shoes and make-up filled the floor space and took up enough of the seat that they were pressed up against each other. "MMm, you smell good," Isadora said. "Like mint."
"Let's roll, Doc!" Bane snapped. "Sooner you drop me off near Brokeface, sooner you get your payoff."
"There's just one stop we need to make first," Daisy ventured in an unsure voice. "A couple of hygiene items."
III.
Parked near the entrance to the STOP AND SAVE supermarket, Doc Valentine stifled a prodigious yawn and turned toward the back seat. "They close at eleven, son. Greedy as my little amigas may be, they only have a few minutes left."
Bane was trying to be patient without much success. The variant factor that gave him his enhanced speed and reflexes also made him constantly jumpy and restless. He wanted to get this over with. "I suppose you've been tutoring them in your sticky finger art?"
"Oh, perish the thought! Young as they are, Daisy and Isadora approach their Urban Foraging as seriously as if planning a surgical operation. They map out all the cameras and the blind spots. They know exactly what they want. It's a subtle delight to watch them at work, it might bring a tear to one's eye."
Bane made no comment. He was in no position to criticize. As a nameless street orphan, stealing had been all that had kept him alive until he had met Kenneth Dred. There had been no cameras back then, no electronic tags on merchandise to sound alarms. With hands quicker than a preying mantis and a complete lack of fear, the young Bane had managed to survive. As he had hit his teens, picking pockets and burglary had supplemented his income.
On the other hand, did these two young woman have survival as an excuse? Did they really need all the make-up and jewelry and dumb looking shoes? Bane dismissed the whole train of thought. He had serious business to concentrate on tonight.
From the driver's seat, Doc Valentine said the one word, "Jeremy."
That was so uncharacteristic that Bane leaned forward. "What?"
In a different, more subdued voice, the old grifter went on, "I heard about the death of our little Trom Girl. I can't express how sorry I am."
"Thanks, Doc."
"She was a sweetheart, all right." The voice shifted back to become more nasal and dramatic, "But alas, few are the years given to us before we go back into the darkness."
"You're playing 'Doc Valentine,' aren't you?" Bane asked quietly. "I sometimes wondered about that. Who are you really beneath the wild clothes and exaggerated mannerisms?"
"Ah, beneath my shallow glitzy exterior is naught but more shallow glitz, I'm afraid," Doc continued. "There is no deep dark mystery to be plumbed, my boy."
"You look exactly the same as when we first met and that was almost fifty years ago. Bleak said he knew you in the 1950s. What's your story, Doc? You're not a Melgar, you're not a Gelydra. How can you stay the same decade after decade?"
"Well, it all started in Philadelphia," he began but was interrupted as Daisy and Isadora exploded back into the car, Daisy in the front and Isadora diving in the back to almost land on top of Bane.
"Look at how very clever I am!" she squealed, holding up a reuseable bag. "See? See? I put the expensive items in this bag and then lowered the other bag down inside it as a liner. Then at the checkout, I put the cheap stuff in the inner bag and nobody suspects a thing!"
"Wonderful," Bane said grudgingly. "If you two are done raiding stores, Doc needs to bring me to wherever Brokeface is hiding. Then we will go about our separate business."
"What? No, no, no, you should come with us to the drive-through at Burger Hell first. We want to hear all about you. You're kind of famous in this city, you're the Dire Wolf! Everybody knows you catch serial killers and zombies and creeps."
Unmoved by the pleading in her voice, Bane gently pushed her back an inch so she wasn't resting directly against him. "Don't believe all the wild stories you hear. Let's go, Doc."
"I subsist solely to serve, sahib," drawled the old reprobate as he started up the car again. "But seeing how well funded you are, my boy, surely you could accomodate the girl's request for a fish filet and I myself would not turn down a bacon double cheeseburger with extra pickle...."
Bane caught himself from yielding barely in time. His accelerated metabolism kept him constantly ravenous. He could have easily tore through a family meal at the fast food joint, but these three had already stalled too long. "Drop me off first," he said firmly. "With the money, you guys can go to a diner and feast."
IV.
Along a back road between hamlets, Bane got dropped off near an abandoned trailer park which had only three remaining trailers, one of which was severely damaged by fire. Out of sight from the road was a fourth trailer in better condition. Bane crept up to see the windows were covered by tar paper through which a single glint of light shows. Moving around to the other side, he disconnected the battery terminals of a pick-up and lowers the hood silently. Then he turned off the large gas-powered generator and stepped back into deeper shadows.
A few seconds later, a barechested and barefoot man wearing only jeans emerged with a flashlight. Grumbling and cursing, he didn't see the black-clad Dire Wolf in the gloom. Bane covered the man with his .38 and said sharply, "Hands behind your head, Harry."
"Don't give me that Harry stuff. Harold Douglas died years ago."
"No, you're still Harry. Yes, you were badly disfigured. There's no denying that. But Brokeface is a lie. You deserve better than that, Harry."
In the backwash from the dropped flashlight, Brokeface could be seen to have a deep vertical indentation running down the center of his face. Little nose remained. "Let it go, Jeremy. I have."
"It's not too late for you," the Dire Wolf said. "You haven't killed or seriously assaulted anyone. Most of your crimes are robbery and vandalism of paintings and statues. You can claim mental stress and damage. I'll arrange for you to do your time in a minimum security rehab in Middleton.It'll be like staying in a comfortable hotel,honestly."
"I don't need help! I don't need to be cured. This is who I am now."
Bane's usually icy voice softened slightly. "You were a good friend, Harry. I respected the work you did at the free clinic. But whether you like it or not, I'm taking you in."
Just then Doc Valentine came stomping across the trailer park with his distinctive gait. Bane grumbled, "That guy is nothing but complications..."
"I must protest that remark," Doc sputtered. "It impugns my dignity. See here, Jeremy my lad, there is one salient fact about our mutual friend here that has hitherto eluded you..."
For once, even the Dire Wolf was distracted enough to be taken off-guard by a sharp stinging sensation in the back of his neck. One of his own anesthetic darts! In the split-second before the potent Trom-devised formula took him out, Bane smashed back his elbow into a face behind him and barely help a yelp of pain before he vanished into oblivion.
Where a normal Human would have been unconscious for over an hour, the Dire Wolf snapped back to full alertness within six minutes. His enhanced healing from decades of the Tagra tea regimen made him nearly impossible to poison. He found himself propped up against the side of the trailer with him wrists tied behind him and his ankles bound together as well. Clothesline. Ordinary clothesline. He barely repressed a smile at how easy this was going to be.
Doc Valentine was inspecting several of the miniaturize tools that had been in Bane's pockets. Daisy was rubbing her nose gingerly, while Isadora expressed sympathy. And Brokeface was holding Bane's long-barreled Smith and Wesson with both hands, his ruined face not showing any emotions that could be clearly discerned.
As casually as if they were meeting for lunch, the Dire Wolf said to Isadora, "You're good, all right. You picked my pocket while we were next to each other in the back seat."
"Being pressed up against you helped," she laughed. "Boobs are the best distraction. They really are."
Seemingly satisfied that her snub round nose was not actually broken, Daisy added, "I was the one who stuck you, though. Papi explained what these anesthetic darts are. Isadora and I each had one in each hand, hoping we could get close enough. Oww. Jeezis, you're rough."
"He really is," Isadora said inevitably.
"Quiet, quiet," snapped Brokeface. "Look, Jeremy, you were right about one thing. I'm not a killer. So we'll be leaving now."
Doc Valentine cleared his thoat. "And I urge y'all to depart hastily. You don't know this Dire Wolf as I do. He has more escape artist tricks than a divore lawyer. We'll be fortunate to reach my car before he's loose and being careless with his fists."
In fact, Bane had already freed himself.
Over a long career, he had come up with many tricks. Each sleeve of his sports jackets had a single edged razor blade in the cuff, blunt side outward. With only a few nicks, he had sliced through the clothesline around his wrists and then gotten his ankles free. "I'm willing to overlook the anesthetic dart," he announced. "You three Urban Foragers are not really the kind of game I hunt. But, Harry... I'm sorry I have to do this."
With the last word, the Dire Wolf erupted up off the ground and closed in on Brokeface faster than any fencer. A simple straight side kick bent the man forward as double as a body can bend and live. In the same motion, he slapped the Smith & Wesson from Brokeface's hand and sent it spinning away into the night. All this happened so quickly that no one else had been able to process the events.
As the girls yelped and began to take a first step, Bane had seized them by the backs of their shirts, one in each hand, and lifted them bodily off the ground so easily it further disoriented them. He flung them, not too gently, onto Doc Valentine so all three went down in a hopeless tangle of arms and legs. By then, a gasping Brokeface was just beginning to get his breath back but he was far from being able to do more than gasp.
Bane took a second to find and holster his gun, then whirled back toward the others. "All of you, stay on the ground. If I have to round up all four of you, there will be bruises and maybe a broken bone or two."
"More gospel truth was ne'er spoken," Doc Valentine wheezed. "Jeremy can snatch a hummmingbird out of the air. He IS the Dire Wolf, you know."
As Daisy crawled a few feet away, she complained, "You know, Papi, you weren't trying to hard to get us off you."
"Now I'm going to have to search all of you," Bane said. "Nothing personal. I can't allow my gimmicks to fall into the wrong hands... that is, YOUR hands."
"We demand a female officer," objected Daisy. "This is sexual harassment."
"It really is," Isadora grumbled.
"I am not a cop. I'm a licensed PI for the State and City of New York. My rules are a little more flexible." Bane took his time searching Doc Valentine, even probing inside the heavy brogans. In addition to several of his specialized gadgets, Bane removed a pack of playing cards with seven aces, a ring of skeleton keys, an Alcoholics Anonymous membership card stamped EXPELLED, a tiny jade elephant, an ancient dried-out condom, a signed photo of a pair of conjoined twins, a New Zealand drivers' license that had expired in 1967, and several more equally unexpected objects he left in a pile.
"Goddam," Daisy laughed. "You've had an interesting life."
"He really has."
Bane snapped on a pair of black latex gloves and repeated "Nothing personal," before searching both Daisy and Isadora with the same meticulous care. He found only the flat plastic case of anesthetic darts which of course he confiscated.
"I bet you enjoyed that," Isadora snorted. "My MyFriends fans pay just to look at me."
"It's just business," responded Bane so flatly that everyone believed him. He extracted a dart and instantly jabbed it into the side of Brokeface's neck, making the man pass out so promptly that he didn't feel the sting.
"He'll be easier to handle this way," the Dire Wolf explained. "I don't feel like arguing with him all night." After returning his retrieved items and doing a rundown on all the hidden pockets, slits and pouches in his clothes, he seemed satisfied.
"You three might as well take off. I'm going to call Department 21 Black and they'll both detain Harry and give me a ride back to my car. They're a unit of the FBI with no sense of leniency. Doc here has enough warrants out on him to get arrested almost anywhere and you girls have a car trunk packed with stolen garments, so it'd be smart to hit the road."
Scrambling awkwardly up onto his feet, Doc Valentine tipped the battered straw hat in a salute. "Your generous spirit does you credit, my boy. I believe I will turn the road ahead of me into the road behind me."
The Dire Wolf watched the two Urban Foragers and shook his head. "I break a lot of laws myself all day every day. But I expect an occasional night in jail and maybe eventually a stay in prison I can't avoid. You two aren't just pushing your luck, you're shoving your luck with both hands."
"Ummm... Thanks. I guess," Isadora managed. "This is the weirdest night ever."
Even the humorless Jeremy Bane could not keep himself from replying, "It really is."
3/18/2024
10/5/2016
I.
The most conspicuous man imaginable found a useful receipt in a shopping cart. This close to 9 PM, the upstate New York parking lot was emptying out. Doc Valentine held the scrap of paper up to the light and chuckled. A round beachball of a man, his thinning blond-white hair and bulbous red nose would have been enough to identify him. His ghastly sense of style was much more significant. Kelly-green trousers and jacket, a red shirt with a wide yellow tie and a battered straw hat at a precarious angle combined to make sure no one could overlook him. The thin black cheroot glowed on its end as he inhaled.
"How auspicious," he muttered and pushed the cart toward the entrance of the LUCKY SHOT store. With sublime confidence, he rolled toward the electronics section and located a TV that exactly matched the receipt. It was a Toshiba UHD with a 55" screen and sold for two hundred and fifty-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents. He expected to get at least one hundred and twenty in cash from Spanish Eddie for it. After wrestling the box into the cart, he headed toward the exit and flashed the receipt at a disinterested blue-shirted worker who didn't even ask to see it. Doc Valentine had expected that. With fifteen minutes before closing, most of the minimum wage serfs were tired and preoccupied with the thought of going home. No alarm sounded as he passed between the monitor towers.
Doc Valentine wedged the TV into the trunk of his creaky white Hyundai Sonata, jamming the four bags of clothing to one side. What the devil was taking Isadora and Daisy so long? he wondered. Those two vixens would be his downfall yet. The old reprobate lit a wooden match with his thumbnail and inhaled on another black cigar. He still didn't trust the girls to be conscientous. True, they had no scruples but they were also impatient and took too many chances. Maybe he would have to discard them soon. Georgia was lovely this time of year....
With an excited chatter, the girls trotted toward him, each holding two large bags bursting with merchandise. Isadora was the taller one, a black-haired young woman with bangs and a wide friendly smile. Four inches shorter, with frizzy dark red hair and sharp green eyes, Daisy was saying, "We should be wearing pirate costumes."
"We really should," Isadora agreed.
"Confound you two urchins," drawled their mentor. "I was beginning to fear you had gone to see a feature film, you took so long."
"A job worth doing is worth doing right," Daisy said.
"It really is," added Isadora, arranging their loot in their trunk. "This one old hag was giving me the dirtiest look."
"She was suspicious of you as soon as you walked in," said Daisy.
"She really was," agreed Isadora. The brunette got the trunk closed with some difficulty and slapped her hands together as if dusting them. "So many tags! What a nuisance."
"That heavy duty neodymium magnet works great, though. It pulls them off like magic."
"It really does." Isadora gave Doc Valentine a sweet smile. "That's your third TV in three days, papi."
"No rest for the weary," Doc replied. "We must hasten away." The old scoundrel took a final drag on his cigar and swung around to open his car door, then screamed out loud as he saw the man in black standing next to him.
II.
Both the young women screamed as well when they heard Doc Valentine, then all three unconsciously drew closer to each other.
Unseen and unheard, a tall gaunt man all in black had gotten close enough to Doc Valentine to touch him. The stark light from the lamppost revealed a narrow, feral face with short black hair and pale eyes.
"That was uncommonly thoughtless!" yelled Doc Valentine.
"It really was," added Isadora, peering out from behind the old grifter's rounded shoulders.
"We need to talk," the stranger said quietly. "Send your friends on their way, Doc."
"Papi, who IS this awful man?" asked Daisy.
"My blossoms, this creature of the night is the notorious Jeremy Bane. Some call him the Dire Wolf. I say, my boy, have you come to return the money you owe me?"
"I don't owe you any money," Bane said. "You two, hit the road. Doc and I have some business."
"Uh, this is HIS car," said Daisy. "I can't drive anyway, I'm all messed up on my anxiety and depression and ADHD meds."
"She really is," Isadora added. "I'm surprised she can remember which way is up."
"You need to get going anyway. For your own safety. I'll pay for a taxi to take you two home."
"What, and leave what we boosted? I don't think so," Daisy snorted. "Talk to Papi tomorrow."
Bane had hardly moved a muscle since first appearing, standing as still as a predatory beast waiting in ambush. Now he took a single step forward and something menacing in that simple movement made the two women scuttle back toward the rear of the car.
"Jeremy my lad, I think of you as a son," Doc Valentine began.
"No you don't," the Dire Wolf cut him off. "Listen, Doc. You know where Brokeface was last seen."
"That name has an unfamiliar sound, my boy, perhaps you have me confused with one of the Jones boys..."
The old grifter's sentence was cut off abruptly as the Dire Wolf raised a single forefinger in an imperative gesture. There was nothing inherently threatening in the simple gesture, but Doc Valentine and his two cohorts shrank back as if he had pointed a shotgun at them.
"I'm not after you, Doc," Bane said in the same even tone. "I'm hunting bigger game. Shoplifting doesn't concern me."
"We call it Urban Foraging," offered Daisy, peeking out from behind her taller friend. "It's no big deal."
"It really isn't," Isadora agreed. "These giant corporations rob their employees of millions in unpaid wages every year. Everybody knows that."
Doc Valentine blustered and tilted the straw hat as far back as it could safely perch. "Think of the noble Red Man scouring the forests for nuts and berries and bark. We carry on that hallowed tradition. We forage not from bushes and shrubs but from shelves and hangers."
"Enough already! I don't care about your shoplifting, whatever you call it. I want Brokeface and you are going to take me to him." He added in a slightly deeper tone, "You've seen what I can do when I'm annoyed."
And here Doc Valentine drew himself up, took a deep drag on the black cheroot and replied calmly, "Jeremy my boy, I've come to know you well over the years. You're not going to assault a poor feeble old man who is both unarmed and posing no threat to you. Such crude behavior is not in you, lad. Girls, we are in no peril from this Dire Wolf."
In the instant he hesitated, Bane lost his advantage. It was true. When he had been younger and more aggressive, seizing Doc Valentine by the shirt and shaking him violently would not have been a problem. Now he felt reluctant to do so. Had he grown soft? Maybe. Bane was in his late sixties now, semi-retired from the Midnight War for years, and he definitely had lost some of his callous edge.
But there might be other ways. Rather than brandishing one of the silver daggers to intimidate Doc, Bane reached deep inside his sport jacket to unsnap an inner pocket. He drew out a thick wad of twenty dollar bills held by a metal clip. Seeing Doc Valentine and the girls all lean forward with widened eyes, the Dire Wolf allowed himself a thin smile.
"There's something in it for you, if you lead me to Brokeface," Bane said. He replaced the money and snapped the inner pocket shut. It was located well back under his left armpit and was difficult for even the best pickpockets to reach. "Let's say, two thousand cash for you and one thousand for each of your partners if they stay quiet and out of the way."
"Sounds like a great idea," Daisy said.
"It really does," added Isadora. "I'd feel better with that tucked away, Papi."
Doc Valentine sputtered for a second, made a pantomime of dropping his hat and kicking it back up to his hand with his toe and decided that was enough stalling.
"From the mouths of succulent lasses come often wisdom. Very well, my boy, fling yourself carelessly into the front passenger seat and we shall vault off into the night."
"What, ride around in a car full of stolen merchandise? With a career con man at the wheel? Doc, you have got enough warrants out on you to make a blanket!" Bane objected.
"I would say 'reclaimed,' rather than stolen," Daisy said. "These giant corporations rip off the public with every sale AND they employ child labor in other countries AND they drive out local businesses."
"They really do," agreed Isadora. "Maybe Mr Bane can sit in the back with me."
"My little lilac blossom, you will find that Jeremy Bane is all business," scoffed Doc Valentine. "Moistening your lips and undoing a button on your blouse is wasted on his plebian mind."
Surprising himself, Bane gave in. Using his own finely-tuned car with its built-in weapons and gadgets would have been more prudent most of the time but he had a wary suspicion that these three would steal everything in it they could. If they got hold of some of the anesthetic darts or miniature dazzle grenades or the Trom lock-opener device, they would put them to disastrous use. "All right," he said at once. "We might as well get this over with."
As Doc Valentine got behind the wheel with Daisy up there next to him, Bane and Isadora situated themselves in the rear seat. Bundles of clothing, shoes and make-up filled the floor space and took up enough of the seat that they were pressed up against each other. "MMm, you smell good," Isadora said. "Like mint."
"Let's roll, Doc!" Bane snapped. "Sooner you drop me off near Brokeface, sooner you get your payoff."
"There's just one stop we need to make first," Daisy ventured in an unsure voice. "A couple of hygiene items."
III.
Parked near the entrance to the STOP AND SAVE supermarket, Doc Valentine stifled a prodigious yawn and turned toward the back seat. "They close at eleven, son. Greedy as my little amigas may be, they only have a few minutes left."
Bane was trying to be patient without much success. The variant factor that gave him his enhanced speed and reflexes also made him constantly jumpy and restless. He wanted to get this over with. "I suppose you've been tutoring them in your sticky finger art?"
"Oh, perish the thought! Young as they are, Daisy and Isadora approach their Urban Foraging as seriously as if planning a surgical operation. They map out all the cameras and the blind spots. They know exactly what they want. It's a subtle delight to watch them at work, it might bring a tear to one's eye."
Bane made no comment. He was in no position to criticize. As a nameless street orphan, stealing had been all that had kept him alive until he had met Kenneth Dred. There had been no cameras back then, no electronic tags on merchandise to sound alarms. With hands quicker than a preying mantis and a complete lack of fear, the young Bane had managed to survive. As he had hit his teens, picking pockets and burglary had supplemented his income.
On the other hand, did these two young woman have survival as an excuse? Did they really need all the make-up and jewelry and dumb looking shoes? Bane dismissed the whole train of thought. He had serious business to concentrate on tonight.
From the driver's seat, Doc Valentine said the one word, "Jeremy."
That was so uncharacteristic that Bane leaned forward. "What?"
In a different, more subdued voice, the old grifter went on, "I heard about the death of our little Trom Girl. I can't express how sorry I am."
"Thanks, Doc."
"She was a sweetheart, all right." The voice shifted back to become more nasal and dramatic, "But alas, few are the years given to us before we go back into the darkness."
"You're playing 'Doc Valentine,' aren't you?" Bane asked quietly. "I sometimes wondered about that. Who are you really beneath the wild clothes and exaggerated mannerisms?"
"Ah, beneath my shallow glitzy exterior is naught but more shallow glitz, I'm afraid," Doc continued. "There is no deep dark mystery to be plumbed, my boy."
"You look exactly the same as when we first met and that was almost fifty years ago. Bleak said he knew you in the 1950s. What's your story, Doc? You're not a Melgar, you're not a Gelydra. How can you stay the same decade after decade?"
"Well, it all started in Philadelphia," he began but was interrupted as Daisy and Isadora exploded back into the car, Daisy in the front and Isadora diving in the back to almost land on top of Bane.
"Look at how very clever I am!" she squealed, holding up a reuseable bag. "See? See? I put the expensive items in this bag and then lowered the other bag down inside it as a liner. Then at the checkout, I put the cheap stuff in the inner bag and nobody suspects a thing!"
"Wonderful," Bane said grudgingly. "If you two are done raiding stores, Doc needs to bring me to wherever Brokeface is hiding. Then we will go about our separate business."
"What? No, no, no, you should come with us to the drive-through at Burger Hell first. We want to hear all about you. You're kind of famous in this city, you're the Dire Wolf! Everybody knows you catch serial killers and zombies and creeps."
Unmoved by the pleading in her voice, Bane gently pushed her back an inch so she wasn't resting directly against him. "Don't believe all the wild stories you hear. Let's go, Doc."
"I subsist solely to serve, sahib," drawled the old reprobate as he started up the car again. "But seeing how well funded you are, my boy, surely you could accomodate the girl's request for a fish filet and I myself would not turn down a bacon double cheeseburger with extra pickle...."
Bane caught himself from yielding barely in time. His accelerated metabolism kept him constantly ravenous. He could have easily tore through a family meal at the fast food joint, but these three had already stalled too long. "Drop me off first," he said firmly. "With the money, you guys can go to a diner and feast."
IV.
Along a back road between hamlets, Bane got dropped off near an abandoned trailer park which had only three remaining trailers, one of which was severely damaged by fire. Out of sight from the road was a fourth trailer in better condition. Bane crept up to see the windows were covered by tar paper through which a single glint of light shows. Moving around to the other side, he disconnected the battery terminals of a pick-up and lowers the hood silently. Then he turned off the large gas-powered generator and stepped back into deeper shadows.
A few seconds later, a barechested and barefoot man wearing only jeans emerged with a flashlight. Grumbling and cursing, he didn't see the black-clad Dire Wolf in the gloom. Bane covered the man with his .38 and said sharply, "Hands behind your head, Harry."
"Don't give me that Harry stuff. Harold Douglas died years ago."
"No, you're still Harry. Yes, you were badly disfigured. There's no denying that. But Brokeface is a lie. You deserve better than that, Harry."
In the backwash from the dropped flashlight, Brokeface could be seen to have a deep vertical indentation running down the center of his face. Little nose remained. "Let it go, Jeremy. I have."
"It's not too late for you," the Dire Wolf said. "You haven't killed or seriously assaulted anyone. Most of your crimes are robbery and vandalism of paintings and statues. You can claim mental stress and damage. I'll arrange for you to do your time in a minimum security rehab in Middleton.It'll be like staying in a comfortable hotel,honestly."
"I don't need help! I don't need to be cured. This is who I am now."
Bane's usually icy voice softened slightly. "You were a good friend, Harry. I respected the work you did at the free clinic. But whether you like it or not, I'm taking you in."
Just then Doc Valentine came stomping across the trailer park with his distinctive gait. Bane grumbled, "That guy is nothing but complications..."
"I must protest that remark," Doc sputtered. "It impugns my dignity. See here, Jeremy my lad, there is one salient fact about our mutual friend here that has hitherto eluded you..."
For once, even the Dire Wolf was distracted enough to be taken off-guard by a sharp stinging sensation in the back of his neck. One of his own anesthetic darts! In the split-second before the potent Trom-devised formula took him out, Bane smashed back his elbow into a face behind him and barely help a yelp of pain before he vanished into oblivion.
Where a normal Human would have been unconscious for over an hour, the Dire Wolf snapped back to full alertness within six minutes. His enhanced healing from decades of the Tagra tea regimen made him nearly impossible to poison. He found himself propped up against the side of the trailer with him wrists tied behind him and his ankles bound together as well. Clothesline. Ordinary clothesline. He barely repressed a smile at how easy this was going to be.
Doc Valentine was inspecting several of the miniaturize tools that had been in Bane's pockets. Daisy was rubbing her nose gingerly, while Isadora expressed sympathy. And Brokeface was holding Bane's long-barreled Smith and Wesson with both hands, his ruined face not showing any emotions that could be clearly discerned.
As casually as if they were meeting for lunch, the Dire Wolf said to Isadora, "You're good, all right. You picked my pocket while we were next to each other in the back seat."
"Being pressed up against you helped," she laughed. "Boobs are the best distraction. They really are."
Seemingly satisfied that her snub round nose was not actually broken, Daisy added, "I was the one who stuck you, though. Papi explained what these anesthetic darts are. Isadora and I each had one in each hand, hoping we could get close enough. Oww. Jeezis, you're rough."
"He really is," Isadora said inevitably.
"Quiet, quiet," snapped Brokeface. "Look, Jeremy, you were right about one thing. I'm not a killer. So we'll be leaving now."
Doc Valentine cleared his thoat. "And I urge y'all to depart hastily. You don't know this Dire Wolf as I do. He has more escape artist tricks than a divore lawyer. We'll be fortunate to reach my car before he's loose and being careless with his fists."
In fact, Bane had already freed himself.
Over a long career, he had come up with many tricks. Each sleeve of his sports jackets had a single edged razor blade in the cuff, blunt side outward. With only a few nicks, he had sliced through the clothesline around his wrists and then gotten his ankles free. "I'm willing to overlook the anesthetic dart," he announced. "You three Urban Foragers are not really the kind of game I hunt. But, Harry... I'm sorry I have to do this."
With the last word, the Dire Wolf erupted up off the ground and closed in on Brokeface faster than any fencer. A simple straight side kick bent the man forward as double as a body can bend and live. In the same motion, he slapped the Smith & Wesson from Brokeface's hand and sent it spinning away into the night. All this happened so quickly that no one else had been able to process the events.
As the girls yelped and began to take a first step, Bane had seized them by the backs of their shirts, one in each hand, and lifted them bodily off the ground so easily it further disoriented them. He flung them, not too gently, onto Doc Valentine so all three went down in a hopeless tangle of arms and legs. By then, a gasping Brokeface was just beginning to get his breath back but he was far from being able to do more than gasp.
Bane took a second to find and holster his gun, then whirled back toward the others. "All of you, stay on the ground. If I have to round up all four of you, there will be bruises and maybe a broken bone or two."
"More gospel truth was ne'er spoken," Doc Valentine wheezed. "Jeremy can snatch a hummmingbird out of the air. He IS the Dire Wolf, you know."
As Daisy crawled a few feet away, she complained, "You know, Papi, you weren't trying to hard to get us off you."
"Now I'm going to have to search all of you," Bane said. "Nothing personal. I can't allow my gimmicks to fall into the wrong hands... that is, YOUR hands."
"We demand a female officer," objected Daisy. "This is sexual harassment."
"It really is," Isadora grumbled.
"I am not a cop. I'm a licensed PI for the State and City of New York. My rules are a little more flexible." Bane took his time searching Doc Valentine, even probing inside the heavy brogans. In addition to several of his specialized gadgets, Bane removed a pack of playing cards with seven aces, a ring of skeleton keys, an Alcoholics Anonymous membership card stamped EXPELLED, a tiny jade elephant, an ancient dried-out condom, a signed photo of a pair of conjoined twins, a New Zealand drivers' license that had expired in 1967, and several more equally unexpected objects he left in a pile.
"Goddam," Daisy laughed. "You've had an interesting life."
"He really has."
Bane snapped on a pair of black latex gloves and repeated "Nothing personal," before searching both Daisy and Isadora with the same meticulous care. He found only the flat plastic case of anesthetic darts which of course he confiscated.
"I bet you enjoyed that," Isadora snorted. "My MyFriends fans pay just to look at me."
"It's just business," responded Bane so flatly that everyone believed him. He extracted a dart and instantly jabbed it into the side of Brokeface's neck, making the man pass out so promptly that he didn't feel the sting.
"He'll be easier to handle this way," the Dire Wolf explained. "I don't feel like arguing with him all night." After returning his retrieved items and doing a rundown on all the hidden pockets, slits and pouches in his clothes, he seemed satisfied.
"You three might as well take off. I'm going to call Department 21 Black and they'll both detain Harry and give me a ride back to my car. They're a unit of the FBI with no sense of leniency. Doc here has enough warrants out on him to get arrested almost anywhere and you girls have a car trunk packed with stolen garments, so it'd be smart to hit the road."
Scrambling awkwardly up onto his feet, Doc Valentine tipped the battered straw hat in a salute. "Your generous spirit does you credit, my boy. I believe I will turn the road ahead of me into the road behind me."
The Dire Wolf watched the two Urban Foragers and shook his head. "I break a lot of laws myself all day every day. But I expect an occasional night in jail and maybe eventually a stay in prison I can't avoid. You two aren't just pushing your luck, you're shoving your luck with both hands."
"Ummm... Thanks. I guess," Isadora managed. "This is the weirdest night ever."
Even the humorless Jeremy Bane could not keep himself from replying, "It really is."
3/18/2024
