"Cheerleaders In Chains"
Sep. 10th, 2024 06:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Cheerleaders In Chains"
8/28-8/29/1982
I.
Jeremy Bane slid through the crowds on 42nd Street as if everyone were consciously stepping aside for him. Walking as fast as an average man could run, the Dire Wolf smoothly twisted his body to slide through every opening without brushing up against anyone. And the sidewalks were indeed crowded at ten PM on a Friday night. Excited tourists and blasé native New Yorkers, hookers and drug dealers, con men selling dubious watches and cameras, even the predatory chickenhawks watching for young runaways... the creatures of the night were out and about.
For two blocks between Sixth and Eighth Avenues, both sides of the street were taken up with movie theatres. The marquees extending out over the passers-by offered three movies for three dollars. No first-run Hollywood blockbusters, though. One movie house was showing three Italian Westerns, including DIG ME SEVEN GRAVES. One offered three Hong Kong action flicks including QUEEN OF SHAOLIN KUNG FU. Still another advertised three chillers headed by THE UNDEAD ARMY. But it was the XXX-rated movies that still dominated this strip. THE MAYOR'S DAUGHTERS, HUNGRY LIPS, BEHIND LOCKED DOORS....
Not that Bane noticed any of that. He never watched movies or television, just as he never listened to music or read for entertainment. He was way too single-minded and repressed for his own good. At twenty-five, six feet tall and barely a hundred and seventy pounds, he was a lean, nearly gaunt figure. The all-black uniform of slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket added to the effect. In a narrow face, pale grey eyes watched the world suspiciously beneath feral black brows. Even on this strip of sleazy nightlife full of shady characters, the Dire Wolf was intimidating without trying to be.
On the corner of Eighth Avenue, he saw to his left the familiar entrances to Grand Central. But it was the building directly opposite that was his target. Its two flanking glass doors were encircled by an explosion of garish neon signs proclaiming LIVE GIRLS and OPEN 24 HOURS and BEST LIVE SHOWS IN TOWN. Bane's normally grim features lowered into more of a scowl than usual as he crossed the street.
Next to the door of the show place was a life-size cardboard stand-up of a pretty young woman with long straight black hair. She was wearing only white panties and had her arms folded across her breasts modestly, with a demure little smile. Across the top of the stand-up a banner read LIVE IN PERSON - AMBER RISK!! Bane glanced at it before pulling open the glass door and entering a small foyer. Inside a booth, a disinterested older woman puffed on a cigarette, took his dollar and gave him a ticket before buzzing to unlock the inner door.
Stepping to one side as he entered, putting his back against a wall, Bane automatically took in the scene as if expecting a deadly ambush. A lifetime of fighting to survive had sharpened his instincts. There were a dozen men in that huge room but none took notice of him. No one's stance or body language indicated any hostile intent or even that they were carrying a weapon. At the far end of the room, a staircase led up but no one was on it.
The Dire Wolf did not exactly relax but he took in more details. Three walls were lined with racks of VHS tapes, magazines and paperbacks. The fourth displayed inflatable dolls and various sex toys. The customers were mostly middle-aged white men browsing thoughtfully as if shopping for more mundane products. Two college boys were laughing at some of the more outrageous dildos. To Bane's right was a counter with a cash register and a man sitting on a stool browsing the NEW YORK MESSENGER sporting section.
He was not interested. This was not why he had come here tonight.
By the staircase, a bright red wooden arrow said LIVE GIRLS THIS WAY! Bane automatically placed his feet on the far edges of each step to minimize squeaking, even though there was no need to be stealthy. He emerged on a huge room that seemed to take up half the building. In the center was a circle of booths with numbered doors. One open door showed a tiny cubicle with a six foot high opaque panel and a box on the wall that took coins. For a dollar in quarters, the screen would rise to give access to a nude woman for one minute. Bane kept moving.
Beyond the booths was a raised stage with a king-sized bed. Twenty metal folding chairs were all unoccupied. Past that were three wooden doors marked MANAGER, RESTROOM - ASK FOR KEY and STAFF ONLY. Leaning up against that wall was a short round man wearing a black satin vest over a white dress shirt and baggy brown trousers. He took a cigarette out of his mouth and asked, "Helpya buddy?"
"I want to see Amber Risk."
"Har. Ha ha, who doesn't? Sorry, my friend, she's working."
Bane held out his billfold. "I'm a Private Investigator. This is about the suspicious death of someone she knew. She'll want to talk to me."
The manager studied the license for a second. "Goddam. The Dire Wolf himself. There's some wild stories told about you, young fella."
"People exaggerate," Bane said, taking his billfold back.
"Sure. Hang on a second, I'll go get her. Dire Wolf HERE, my God..." The manager knocked on the STAFF door and yelled, "Only Max, girlies, don't scream and jump up on the chairs," before going on.
Only a few seconds later, a remarkably pretty young woman stepped out and closed the door behind her. She was tightening a blue robe around her narrow waist. Amber Risk had an oval face with a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose and huge dark eyes. The glossy black hair shone with youth and health. "This is about poor old Carl."
"It is."
"Listen. Let's step out the exit door and talk. Every New Yorker has heard about you. If anyone can find out who killed him and nab the bastard, I bet it's you!"
II.
In the dead-end alley with its three battered galvanized garbage cans, Amber lit a Kools Light and exhaled through her nostrils. She noticed how Bane stood with his back to the blank side of the building and those pale eyes kept moving warily. After an uncomfortable moment of silence, she said, "So. Mr Bane, who hired you to investigate Carl's death?"
"I can't reveal a client's name. Professional ethics. Correct me if I'm wrong about any of this. You're very successful in X-rated movies. Your real name is Colleen Louise Weatherby from Queens, you're only nineteen. You were starting a new movie, CHEERLEADERS IN CHAINS, but shooting was temporarily halted because a co-star has to arrive from California. After your small crew and cast went their ways, the body of your sound man Carl Goble was found in a creek near where you had been shooting. Accurate so far?"
She gave a wry closed-lips smile. "You've been doing some digging. How did Carl die? He was no kid, maybe it was natural causes."
"No," said Bane, keeping an eye on the mouth of the alley as a young couple strolled past. "My sources tell me cause of death is being kept secret for now but it was definitely homicide."
"Damn, you are too poker-faced. I can't read you at all."
"Good. I haven't been out to the scene yet. I need first-hand observation, I'll check it out and get back to you."
Amber Risk seemed to notice for the first time that her cigarette had gone out. "Oh. Hey, I have to get back to work. Mr Bane, we're starting to shoot again tomorrow. Mike Bronze is supposed to be ready by then. Why don't you drive me out there? I'll introduce you to everyone."
"That could make things easier," the Dire Wolf said after the slightest moment of considering. "All right."
"I like your attitude, really. Millions of men would LOVE to get me in their car and you act like it's maybe worth it. Stop here tomorrow morning, okay? Say, nine o'clock. It's an hour drive."
"I'll be here." Starting to walk out of the alley, Bane paused and said over his shoulder. "I'm sure you are careful about your safety already. But double your guard. We don't know the killer's agenda yet. You could be next on some list."
Amber pulled open the green-painted steel door behind her. "Heh. How could I be safer than having the Dire Wolf next to me?"
III.
On heels too high for comfort and wearing a red dress with spangles that caught the streetlights, Amber Risk click-clacked down a deserted side street. It was one-twenty in the morning. She had stayed to do an extra strip act because the tips had been good. now a thick rolls of bills held by a rubber band sat reassuringly in her black leather shoulder bag... next to the snub-nosed .22 revolver that gave her even more reassurance. She had been thinking about Jeremy Bane all night. What a strange guy. She was sure he was straight and yet he had been so indifferent about her. Since she had been fourteen, Amber had gotten used to guys falling all over themselves to get her attention. What was the deal with this Dire Wolf guy?
She had heard such crazy stories about him catching not only serial killers and black magic cultists but real no-fooling monsters out of horror films. And she had never laughed at these tales. The people telling them had been obviously shaken. Now, in the gloom of a poorly lit street in the dead of night, just thinking about the Undead andf the skull-faced men and the men with rattlesnake fangs made her feel like she was freezing.
Too deep in thought for her usual alertness, she did not see the short stocky man who had turned the corner at Tenth Avenue and who was following her at a distance of a block. His sneakers made no noise on the stained sidewalk. Bundled up in a worn-out topcoat, wool cap pulled low, not much could be made out of his appearance. When Amber slowed to dig for a cigarette, the follower sped up his pace.
And he was snatched out of sight. Two frighteningly strong hands darted out from a doorway, one clamping his jaw shut and the other wrapping around his chest to crack his ribs. The stalker was lifted up off his feet entirely and slammed up against the inside of the doorway, unable to draw a breath.
On the corner, Amber Risk swung around. What was that? She had heard something. She slid her hand into her handbag to close around the butt of her revolver and she started off much quicker than before. The shoddy hotel she was staying at was not far away.
Easing up slightly, Jeremy Bane whispered, "Shhh. It's important you don't make a sound right now." He lowered the man so his feet touched the ground again and let him breathe.
"Ahh...ahh," the stalker gasped but he did not try to break free. He was shocked to see how thin his attacker was. From the way he had been manhandled, he had expected some huge hulking brute.
Checking to be certain that Amber was out of sight, Bane turned his full attention to his captive. "Now you can start talking..."
"I didn't do nothing wrong, lemme go. I don't have any money, mister."
"Yeah right," the Dire Wolf said in his low intense tones. "Do you know who that woman was?"
"I can't tell you anything, I don't dare talk." The man suddenly stiffened and began hyperventilating, swiveling his head from side to side. "Ah! It hurts! Help me, help me!" And hot black blood gushed from his mouth and nose so forcefully that Bane was lucky it missed splattering all over him. He jumped back and released the man who was dead before he crumbled to the ground and lay as he fell.
Bane only stared down at the bloody corpse for a second before leaping out in the street and striding after Amber. There could be someone else after her. This had not been a mundane robber or would-be rapist. The stalker dying dramatically like that before he could talk showed someone with gralic powers had intervened. Bane scowled as he spotted Amber, still safe and entering the lobby of the Paradise Hotel. He slowed and waited until he saw she was inside.
Down the block was a pay phone. Bane decided he would make an anonymous call to NYPD about seeing what looked like a dead body in a doorway on Tenth Avenue. This case had suddenly become much more important. It wasn't just some sleazy murde in the porn business. This was Midnight War.
IV.
It took more than two hours to get to the North Shore out on Long Island because Amber insisted on stopping at gas stations to make phone calls. Impatient at the best of times, Bane inwardly fumed but had to put up with it. The variant metabolism that gave him his enhanced speed also made him chronically restless and hungry, so long car drives were an ordeal.
Hopping back in, Amber Risk said, "Great, great, everyone's ready. We'll be there in another ten minutes." She was wearing white sneakers, blue jeans and a basic dark blue T-shirt with a picture of the Milky Way on it. Not overly tight, not flashy at all, her clothing matched her minimal make-up and simple ponytail to show she was not eager for attention.
Easing his Mustang back out into traffic, the Dire Wolf said, "You were telling me about your retirement plans."
"Oh yeah, absolutely. I know what happens to girls in adult entertainment. They get ground up and spit out! Not me, brother. In two years on my twenty-first birthday, I'm going to film my last scene and I'll already be enrolled in a college. I'm not getting within sight of cocaine and I don't drink. My money's staying in the bank." She added almost to herself, "I do need a financial advisor, though, maybe an IRA would be the best idea."
"Glad to hear this."
She turned those dark eyes on him and tilted her head. "Seen any of my movies?"
"No." Just the one word with no emotional content.
"Really? They're pretty popular. LONG WEEKEND WITH AMBER made a truckload of money for the video company. You don't like sex movies?"
"I don't watch any movies," he said. "Busy. I'm not making any judgement by it."
"You know, I can NOT figure you out. At all. You don't give anything away."
At a red light, he turned toward her for an instant. "My job does that. I don't want people to tell what I'm thinking or what I know. It becomes a habit."
"I want a serious answer. All the crazy stories about you and monsters. Vampires. Warlocks. Zombies. What's the truth?"
Bane sighed almost inaudibly. "All true. And worse than anything you might have heard. There are creatures of the night preying on Humans that would give you nightmares if you saw them. And a few people with knowledge go out to fight them. It's called the Midnight War."
"I knew it! I knew there's more going on than we're told about. You know, for thousands of years, cultures all over the world have believed in werewolves and ghosts and whatever. And you yourself have dealt with these things?"
"Yes. I don't try to convince anyone about these things," Bane said. "Maybe it's better that everyone nervously looks the other way and acts like there is no supernatural. Is that Dorset Road coming up?"
"Huh? Oh. Yeah, turn left at that road sign. Mr Everett's house is up that road." She leaned back and dug around in her handbag for a cigarette. "Eek, only two more. I hope Jazzy's got a pack."
Going up the side street, they passed large, well-kept houses separated by considerable yards. Long Island Sound's water could be seen glittering in the sun not far beyond. The road ended with a two-story frame building that looked as if it might have started life as a farmhouse. A white VW van and a dark Ford Malibu were parked on the gravel next to the house, and several people were huddled nearby. At the sound of Bane's car approached, the group stirred and swung around to greet them.
As Amber jumped out and everyone was excitedly greeting each other with hugs and cheek kisses, Bane emerged from behind the wheel. He took in the terrain carefully. From speaking with the police and checking maps, he knew that to their west was the creek where the body had been found. That was something he wanted to examine right away.
"Mr Bane! Hey, come meet everyone!" called Amber, waving urgently. The Dire Wolf walked over, started shaking hands and smiling as much as he could manage, which was still barely perceptible. Amber had already given him names and descriptions of the crew which numbered five, including Amber herself.
The director was a tall lanky black man named Jimmy B. Best. His most striking feature was the short bristling beard which wagged as he spoke. The other woman performer was an older, busty blonde called Jazzy. The cameraman was a beer-bellied over-jovial guy calling himself Herman the German. And the male performer who had just arrived was a reasonably fit and handsome young man, Mike Bronze. Probably his deep West Coast tan was the inspiration for that stage name. Saying a polite "nice to meet you," to each of them, Bane was sure he could uncover their real names and pasts if the investigation led him that way.
"Time is money, time is money," Johnny B Best announced. "We've got to get the hottest scenes ever captured on film done today. Girls, get into your cheerleader outfits. All the restraints and cuffs are in the van. Sad as it is what happened to Carl, it does leave us shorthanded. I'll have to operate the boom myself. Unless, Mr Bane, you would like to help out...?"
That took the Dire Wolf by surprise, but he was used to not showing any reaction. "Sorry. I'm going to look over the area and make sure it's safe. Murder is my business, not movie-making."
"You... don't want to watch me and Amber do girl-girl?" asked Jazzy as if her heart was broken. "Live? In person? So close you could touch us?"
"It's bondage stuff," Amber added hopefully.
"Nothing personal," replied Bane as he started walking toward where he knew the creek was. "I just want to guarantee you're all alive to make more movies."
V.
The creek was wider across and faster moving than he had expected. About one hundred feet further on, he could see through scattered trees a low stone wall made of loose irregular rocks to mark the property boundaries. Bane located the spot where a rounded boulder broke the surface, that was where the body of the sound man had been found. He moved carefully closer, but the soft muddy ground had been trampled by many feet already.
Bane had no intention of telling anyone involved that he had already studied the police reports and had a long talk with two homicide detectives involved. It was all off the record and undocumented and would be denied, but the NYPD had for years used Bane as an unofficial weapon in cases which smelled of the occult. The Midnight War would never be mentioned in court, but it had to be dealt with. In truth, he had not been hired by any client to investigate Carl Goble's murder. He was acting on his own.
Goble had been completely naked, lying face up in running water which had washed away all the blood from the deep slash across his throat and which had cleaned the fresh brand on his chest... the esoteric symbol of an oval split by a diagonal lightning bolt. The sign of Red Sect. This was not going to be made public knowledge.
Fifteen minutes crawled by and Bane straightened up, looking more sour than ever. He hadn't found anything worth mentioning. Despite all the training his KDF teammate Michael Hawk had been teaching him, the Dire Wolf was no deductive genius. Hawk could glance at someone's hands or watch them walk, and then immediately rattle off a dozen observations. That was beyond Bane, for now at least. When the action started, when the fists and guns came into play, when someone had to be chased across rooftops or when three enraged goons were charging, the Dire Wolf was at his best. But he seemed to be wasting time here.
Turning to retrace his steps back toward the house where the filming was going on, Bane thought about Red Sect. That cult had no pretension of high-sounding goals or mystic justification. Founded by the Lundborg brothers sixty years earlier, Red Sect was bluntly out to use gralic lore to amass great wealth, enjoy depraved orgies, avenge imagined slights. They were basically sleazy crimelords using magic. He and his KDF team had broken three of the cult's local covens but no one knew how many there were or how to track them all down.
No one was in sight at the house. Amber had told him it belonged to a producer at Excite Video and he often loaned it out to film crews who had shown they wouldn't trash the place. GilbertEverett had a reputation for wild parties, according to the research Bane had done but he had managed to never get the police called on him. Everett was an obvious suspect to be a Red Sect warlock but first Bane wanted to observe the film crew themselves. The van was parked facing the house. Going by the angles, he wouldn't be visible to anyone inside. Finding the back doors unlocked, the Dire Wolf casually started searching the interior.
So much trash and debris. Items of female clothing in loose piles. A dozen empty Styrofoam coffee cups and many fast food wrappers. Two copies of entertainment industry magazines, a tangle of connecting cables for a VHS player and a portable black and white TV. Loose receipts, sunglasses, pennies and for some reason an empty five pound dog food bag. Bane searched quickly and methodically. It wasn't until he dug under the driver's seat that he found a plastic bag containing six bundles of white powder wrapped neatly in cling film. It didn't really matter to him if it was cocaine or heroin, its presence was hardly unexpected. No guns, no weapons of any kind, and more importantly, no tiny trinkets with any possible mystic significance.
The way the other cars were parked meant that he could be seen from inside the house. As many laws as Bane broke on a constant basis, he didn't feel justified in antagonizing anyone yet. He moved toward the red-painted house with its porch that ran across the front and had a swinging bench hanging from chains. The front door was wide open. Before he joined the crew, though, he was starving.
Bane's enhanced reflexes had the price of a hyper metabolism that made him always jumpy, restless and ravenous. He ate enough for two ordinary men and still remained gaunt. Opening the trunk of his Mustang, he took out a paper bag containing a twelve inch turkey sub, a bag of trail mix and a large bran muffin. He plowed through it all so quickly he hardly tasted any of it. Done within minutes, Bane chugged a sixteen ounce bottle of seltzer without pause. The belch which escaped took away somewhat from his natural reserve.
Feeling a bit more sanguine, he entered the house, passed into the living room and heard voices from the adjoining kitchen. Seated at a round table under a picture window, Amber and Jazzy were naked except for open front-button sweaters with a red letter R on the left. The director Jimmy B Best was making notes on a few pieces of paper that served as the rudimentary script, and Mike Bronze was slumped back in his chair wrapped in a fuzzy gold-colored bathrobe. Herman the German was over by the sink, leaning back with a bottle of beer in one beefy hand. "Hey, want a Heineken?"
"Wow, you missed a lot of fun" laughed Jazzy. She tugged open a big bag of potato skins which Amber immediately helped herself to. "This movie is going to pull in big bucks. I should negotiate for a percentage, you know?"
In contrast, Amber Risk gave the Dire Wolf a cool, appraising look. "Find anything?"
"Not much," Bane admitted. "The scene was trampled. I'm now going to be asking questions that the cops have already hit you with, but that can't be helped. The last night everyone was here, what order did you guys leave?"
"Sure," Best answered distractedly as he scribbled. "Um, Herman and I were in the van with the equipment, we took off at seven-forty. I remember because we had a debate about how long it would take to get back to Penn Station."
"I left the same time in my rusted out crapwagon," said Jazzy.
Bane turned toward Amber, and she finished chewing a big mouthful of chips before answering. "I waited here. I had a friend coming to get me and he called to say he was gonna be delayed. Carl asked if I wanted to get a ride with him and I said no, my friend was already on his way." She stared down at the floor. "I should have gone with Carl! Maybe he'd still be alive if I'd been with him..."
"Honey, you couldn't have known," Best put in gently. "It didn't have anything to do with you."
"None of us knew Carl that well." Herman the German finished his beer and moved closer. "Stuffy old coot. Jimmy hired him through an agency."
For the next hour, Bane put the expected questions toward them, watching each reaction as another spoke and comparing every detail. They had of course been grilled this way at length by police and it showed in how smooth their explanations had become. Everything was matching what the homicide detectives had told him. "Now I want to know a little bit about Gilbert Everett. This is his house?"
"You bet," Jazzy replied. She and Amber were both smoking at this point. "He's THE bigshot at the video company. He lets crews film here to cut production costs. That's fine. The problem is then he throws parties here where he expects the girls to service his creepy old vulture friends."
"He's been giving me a hard time because I will not go ahead with that," said Amber. "Making movies is one thing but I'm not going to be passed around like a toy."
Bane had stepped back so he could see everyone's expressions at once. The whole time, he had seemed detached, almost disinterested, but he was actually taking in vast amounts of observations. "I think I'd like to meet this Mr Everett."
"Easy enough," said Best. "He's having a party tonight at nine. But... I don't know. If you see anything illegal, what are you going to do?"
"You mean drugs? I don't care about that at this point. I can look the other way with plausible deniability. But," Bane added, "If there's any violence, any sexual coercion, I'm obligated to intervene. And I would anyway."
That made Amber smile. "I think I'd feel a lot safer with Mr Bane here!"
Mike yawned and stretched, speaking for the first time. "Guess I'm ready for another round. Everyone brush their teeth and touch up their make-up."
"Mike's good for three money shots in twelve hours," chuckled Jazzy. "You can tell he's only twenty-four. That's why he's so much in demand."
"That and my sheer screen charisma," the tall tanned man said. "I'm a born star!
"We're going to take turns on Mike and then team up." Amber Risk said, snubbing out a final cigarette in a white ceramic ashtray. "I guarantee it'll hold your interest."
But the Dire Wolf was already leaving the kitchen. "Thanks, but no. I'll be back before nine. For now, I have to concentrate on this case. There's still at least one killer on the loose."
For the next half hour, Bane walked around the property, not sure what he was looking for. In the far back corner, by the base of a dying cherry tree was a loose pile of fallen branches that had been gathered together. The dirt under it looked as if it had been disturbed. Immediately suspicious, he began tossing the branches aside. Someone had definitely been up to something here. The Dire Wolf found a long flat stone that seemed serviceable, dropped to his knees and started digging with his usual energetic approach.
Buried less than a foot down, he found a blowtorch. Under it was a thin steel rod eight inches long, with a round disc set at an angle at one end. Bane examined the design on the end, and it was the oval split by lightning again. A branding iron. After only a minute's thought, he replaced the items and filled the dirt back in. Then he replaced the fallen branches and debris as closely to their original appearance as he could manage. Now he had a couple of theories about what had happened but he wanted to speak to Everett first.
Striding briskly back up to the house, he got back in his car. Back to Manhattan. His KDF team was out on a mission, but he needed food and a few hours sleep. The night before, he had watched the Paradise Hotel to be sure no further stalkers were after Amber. When he had seen her emerge onto the sidewalk, he had hurried to the garage on 40th Street to fetch his Mustang and then go meet her. On the drive back to the KDF headquarters, Bane turned over every detail of the case repeatedly in his mind, thinking about possible motives, considering who might be affiliated with Red Sect, remembering the various reactions the film crew had shown in their interactions with him.
As he tended toward a conclusion, Bane felt an unfamiliar twinge of sadness. Michael Hawk had warned him right at the start that detective work made you cynical and disillusioned. Bane had always told himself he was hard and cold but if he really was that way, he would not have had to convince himself.
VI.
At nine-twenty, the Dire Wolf returned to find every window in the house blazing. Classical music streamed out into the cool night air, but he had no idea what composer it was. In addition to the white van and Jazzy's car, he counted eight other vehicles. They were all impressive, immaculately kept and gleaming with wax. A Lincoln Town Car. A Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost. A BMW. Very nice. Bane unclipped the Link from his belt and swung the advanced Trom-made device to record the scene and document all the license plates before moving toward the house.
At the door, Amber Risk greeted him with a squeal. "There you are! Come in." She had changed to tan slacks and a black V-neck sweater over a white blouse. The effect was that of a proper college student. The black hair had been brushed out so it hung down her back to the waistline.
"Hello," Bane said. "What do I need to know right now?"
She grabbed his arm and tugged him over on the porch away from the open door. "Oh brother, I need to tell you this. I've been thinking about that Midnight War business you told me about. I am convinced that Everett is in some sort of Black Magic cult. Satanists, devil worshippers, witches, whatever you want to call it."
"Why do you think that?"
An older couple strolled by, the aroma of cigar smoke drifting behind them, and Amber waited until they had passed. "Lots of little comments. The word 'ceremony' and 'ritual' kept coming up when he talked to his friends. Everett hinted a lot about all the special knowledge he had. And two girls came to a party and just fell off the Earth. That happens a lot in the adult industry, to tell the truth, performers show up or don't, there's a lot of turnover."
Bane made a non-committal sound. "Did you ever hear the phrase 'Those Who Remember?'"
"No. Not that I remember."
" 'The Preincarnators?'"
"What kind of word is that? No, never."
"How about 'Red Sect?'"
"Yes! Oh my God." She jabbed an imperative finger at him. "I thought he was saying 'red sex' or 'rough sex,' you know? And I didn't want to encourage him, so I never said anything in return. What does it mean?"
"It's an occult group," Bane said. "You were right not to talk about it. I wouldn't mention it now either. Let's go in, okay?"
In the doorway to that crowded room, Bane's Kumundu training kicked in full blast. Within one second, he registered details of all sixteen people who were buzzing in conversation. He took in who was looking in his direction, which looked like they might be armed or be able to fight barehanded, how everyone was interacting. This was automatic and a major part of the Kumundu martial art. He could not have turned it off if he had tried.
Except for the film crew he had already met, everyone there was middle-aged or old. They were well dressed and impeccably groomed. Most were drinking cocktails or glasses of champagne, and the smoke from cigars and pipes tinged the air. Only a few heads turned at glimpsing Amber and Bane entering, and those did not seem particularly interested. With one exception.
Standing in the center of that room with a dozen people circled around him was the obvious host. Gilbert Everett had apparently once been a handsome, imposing man. Now hitting his late sixties, the leonine head of hair had thinned and turned white. The tall body had bent forward and the jawline had softened. When the producer saw the man entering, his face went white as if a magic trick had been performed. He visibly gasped.
Naturally, everyone swung their heads to see what had alarmed him and they all stopped talking at once. The crowd froze. Jeremy Bane invariably intimidated people. The lean, tense body all in black, the narrow somber face, the pale grey eyes under heavy feral brows, all combined into an ominous effect. It was as if a real wolf had entered the room.
To her credit, Amber broke the moment by breezily pulling the Dire Wolf to the crowd. "Hey, everyone, this is the real no-fooling private eye I mentioned. Jeremy Bane. Isn't he kind of hot?" That was enough. Everyone saw that Everett had regained his composure, and since the music was still playing, the people started chatting again.\\
Bane watched Everett excuse himself and approach. The Kumundu training said no attack was imminent, either physical or magical. In fact, Everett had all the clues of a man in mortal terror but trying to hide it. Everything from the opened irises to the tension in the raised shoulders said so. This was unexpected. When the man extended his hand, Bane shook it politely enough.
"I can't say I was looking forward to meeting you," Everett managed. The subvocal tremors were marked. The man's breathing was more short and rapid than normal.
Bane kept his voice subdued. "This doesn't have to end badly. I didn't come here to nail you."
"This is about the man whose body was found, right? The microphone operator?"
"Yes."
"All right. All right. Are the police on their way? Or do you intend to use those famous silver daggers on my throat?" As Everett spoke, a dowager in an elegant white dress approached and he waved her away.
"No. Listen. Take a minute and tell me what your defense would be if I were about to arrest you. What would you so?"
Everett seemed confused but less frightened by that question. He drew himself up taller and for the first time seemed a little confident. "Obviously I'm no saint. You know that. I ruined a few business rivals using gralic tricks. And it's no secret I pressure the women in these movies to sleep with me. That's wrong by any standard, what can I say? It's my sin. It's why I'm in the sect. But I have never killed anyone or ordered anyone killed. I just haven't."
Every tiny flicker of the man's eyes and every variation in his voice added to the confirmation that he was telling the truth. Nothing was ever a hundred per cent certain, and Bane had been fooled a few times by subtle liars. Reading body language, even with Tel Shai techniques, could only be taken as circumstantial evidence. He realized Everett was starting to wilt under his cold gaze.
"One thing," he said. "I'm guessing that something was stolen you don't want to talk about?"
That hit a raw nerve like a needle poke. Gilbert Everett moved back a step and his eyes bulged as he lost self-control. "What? What?! Did YOU take it?"
"No. I've never been out here before today. Everett, I have no reason to spare your life. You're a warlock in a Red Sect coven. Maybe you're not a murderer like you claim but some would call you a rapist. I may come back soon for a more conclusive meeting." He leaned forward slightly and saw the panic surge in the man's eyes. "But not right now."
He did not say so at the moment, but Bane had not forgotten the thug who had suddenly and inexplicably died with blood shooting out his mouth and nose the night before. That had been a gralic death curse. He had already decided that Everett would pay for the killing but he wanted to clear up Carl's murder first.
Bane turned and caught Amber's eye across the room. She had been chatting with two men in tailored suits complete with vests. To their utter dismay, she immediately started toward him. "I think I have some progress to report," he said. "Let's get some air."
VII.
Leaning back against the crew's VW van, Amber pulled a lone cigarette from her shirt pocket and continued, "So I'm sure CHEERLEADERS IN CHAINS is going to be going to be the biggest adult film ever! I looked unbearably cute in that cheerleader outfit and my character seems all naive and innocent at first. Fans love to see good girls go bad..."
"Gilbert Everett doesn't seem as tough-minded as I expected," Bane said to cut her off.
"Him? Nah. He's a wimp. I bet he's never even been in a fistfight. I could see he was about to piss himself when you stared at him. Heh heh."
"He forces the actresses into sex?"
"No. Not so much FORCES as he keeps being a pest. He won't blacklist you if you don't play the game but he does reward you with better parts, more publicity, you know? He's been getting on my nerves big time. He'll pester but he won't force."
In the light from the house, Bane's unusual eyes seemed like silver. "That's bad enough. Would you want him to be arrested? Go to prison?"
"Oh, would I ever!" She took a deep drag and the end of the cigarette flared up like an ember. "I have daydreams about it. Him being in jail would be a granted prayer, Mr Bane."
"I've been getting reports from people that work with me in Manhattan. They found the branding iron."
"Oh no, that's imposs..." Her voice cut short. "Wait, what?"
The Dire Wolf was standing facing her, arms folded across his chest. "You were going to say it's impossible they found it."
"I'm confused. It's been a long day, my head is tired. I don't know what you're going on about."
The Dire Wolf had positioned himself so he could see anyone approaching from any angle. From the porch twenty yards away came the sounds of a disagreement veering toward outright argument. "He's Red Sect, Amber. Every time I tag one of them, I feel the world gets a little safer. And cleaner."
"Did you know Carl had joined this Red Sect craziness? They promised him lots of coke, which he loved, and that some of the girls would take care of him. Carl watches us going at it all day, but he never gets away. It was eating him up."
Bane stepped closer. "I don't think Everett killed your sound man. My opinion, Everett doesn't have the nerve to go through with any violence up close and personal."
"No. Someone stole his damn branding iron and ritual knife, and used them on Carl. Someone who figured the police would grab Gilbert Everett and lock him up until he dies."
"Someone like you?" asked the Dire Wolf.
"Yeah. Someone like me. Listen, Mr Bane.. Jeremy. We both want the same thing. Who wouldn't? We should work together and shove Everett into Rikers Island." She chuckled in the gloom. "I wouldn't be a bad partner to work with and honestly, I think you and I could have some fun together afterwards."
For a long moment, silence hung around them. Bane exhaled hard. "I'm actually sorry, Amber. I was hoping it really was Everett who did the murder."
"So what? It'll still work out for the best. Carl was no better than Everett. Come on, let's make our plans. I've got a few ideas."
Reaching to his belt, Bane tapped the flat Link device clipped to his belt. "You get all that, captain?"
"Perfectly," replied a gruff male voice. "Recorded and transcribed. You're authorized to detain her, Bane. Two squad cars are five minutes away."
Godamm it, you set me up! You're wearing a wire."
"Yes," Bane said simply. "So Carl agreed to meet you at that creek after everyone else had left. He thought he was in for a good time. Right?"
Amber Risk tapped him on the chest with a forefinger that dug in. "Nothing is going to happen to me. Look at me. I'm too pretty for jail. I was abused. I'm the victim. I'm not going to be convicted."
"I'm not the jury," said Bane.
9/10/2024.
8/28-8/29/1982
I.
Jeremy Bane slid through the crowds on 42nd Street as if everyone were consciously stepping aside for him. Walking as fast as an average man could run, the Dire Wolf smoothly twisted his body to slide through every opening without brushing up against anyone. And the sidewalks were indeed crowded at ten PM on a Friday night. Excited tourists and blasé native New Yorkers, hookers and drug dealers, con men selling dubious watches and cameras, even the predatory chickenhawks watching for young runaways... the creatures of the night were out and about.
For two blocks between Sixth and Eighth Avenues, both sides of the street were taken up with movie theatres. The marquees extending out over the passers-by offered three movies for three dollars. No first-run Hollywood blockbusters, though. One movie house was showing three Italian Westerns, including DIG ME SEVEN GRAVES. One offered three Hong Kong action flicks including QUEEN OF SHAOLIN KUNG FU. Still another advertised three chillers headed by THE UNDEAD ARMY. But it was the XXX-rated movies that still dominated this strip. THE MAYOR'S DAUGHTERS, HUNGRY LIPS, BEHIND LOCKED DOORS....
Not that Bane noticed any of that. He never watched movies or television, just as he never listened to music or read for entertainment. He was way too single-minded and repressed for his own good. At twenty-five, six feet tall and barely a hundred and seventy pounds, he was a lean, nearly gaunt figure. The all-black uniform of slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket added to the effect. In a narrow face, pale grey eyes watched the world suspiciously beneath feral black brows. Even on this strip of sleazy nightlife full of shady characters, the Dire Wolf was intimidating without trying to be.
On the corner of Eighth Avenue, he saw to his left the familiar entrances to Grand Central. But it was the building directly opposite that was his target. Its two flanking glass doors were encircled by an explosion of garish neon signs proclaiming LIVE GIRLS and OPEN 24 HOURS and BEST LIVE SHOWS IN TOWN. Bane's normally grim features lowered into more of a scowl than usual as he crossed the street.
Next to the door of the show place was a life-size cardboard stand-up of a pretty young woman with long straight black hair. She was wearing only white panties and had her arms folded across her breasts modestly, with a demure little smile. Across the top of the stand-up a banner read LIVE IN PERSON - AMBER RISK!! Bane glanced at it before pulling open the glass door and entering a small foyer. Inside a booth, a disinterested older woman puffed on a cigarette, took his dollar and gave him a ticket before buzzing to unlock the inner door.
Stepping to one side as he entered, putting his back against a wall, Bane automatically took in the scene as if expecting a deadly ambush. A lifetime of fighting to survive had sharpened his instincts. There were a dozen men in that huge room but none took notice of him. No one's stance or body language indicated any hostile intent or even that they were carrying a weapon. At the far end of the room, a staircase led up but no one was on it.
The Dire Wolf did not exactly relax but he took in more details. Three walls were lined with racks of VHS tapes, magazines and paperbacks. The fourth displayed inflatable dolls and various sex toys. The customers were mostly middle-aged white men browsing thoughtfully as if shopping for more mundane products. Two college boys were laughing at some of the more outrageous dildos. To Bane's right was a counter with a cash register and a man sitting on a stool browsing the NEW YORK MESSENGER sporting section.
He was not interested. This was not why he had come here tonight.
By the staircase, a bright red wooden arrow said LIVE GIRLS THIS WAY! Bane automatically placed his feet on the far edges of each step to minimize squeaking, even though there was no need to be stealthy. He emerged on a huge room that seemed to take up half the building. In the center was a circle of booths with numbered doors. One open door showed a tiny cubicle with a six foot high opaque panel and a box on the wall that took coins. For a dollar in quarters, the screen would rise to give access to a nude woman for one minute. Bane kept moving.
Beyond the booths was a raised stage with a king-sized bed. Twenty metal folding chairs were all unoccupied. Past that were three wooden doors marked MANAGER, RESTROOM - ASK FOR KEY and STAFF ONLY. Leaning up against that wall was a short round man wearing a black satin vest over a white dress shirt and baggy brown trousers. He took a cigarette out of his mouth and asked, "Helpya buddy?"
"I want to see Amber Risk."
"Har. Ha ha, who doesn't? Sorry, my friend, she's working."
Bane held out his billfold. "I'm a Private Investigator. This is about the suspicious death of someone she knew. She'll want to talk to me."
The manager studied the license for a second. "Goddam. The Dire Wolf himself. There's some wild stories told about you, young fella."
"People exaggerate," Bane said, taking his billfold back.
"Sure. Hang on a second, I'll go get her. Dire Wolf HERE, my God..." The manager knocked on the STAFF door and yelled, "Only Max, girlies, don't scream and jump up on the chairs," before going on.
Only a few seconds later, a remarkably pretty young woman stepped out and closed the door behind her. She was tightening a blue robe around her narrow waist. Amber Risk had an oval face with a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose and huge dark eyes. The glossy black hair shone with youth and health. "This is about poor old Carl."
"It is."
"Listen. Let's step out the exit door and talk. Every New Yorker has heard about you. If anyone can find out who killed him and nab the bastard, I bet it's you!"
II.
In the dead-end alley with its three battered galvanized garbage cans, Amber lit a Kools Light and exhaled through her nostrils. She noticed how Bane stood with his back to the blank side of the building and those pale eyes kept moving warily. After an uncomfortable moment of silence, she said, "So. Mr Bane, who hired you to investigate Carl's death?"
"I can't reveal a client's name. Professional ethics. Correct me if I'm wrong about any of this. You're very successful in X-rated movies. Your real name is Colleen Louise Weatherby from Queens, you're only nineteen. You were starting a new movie, CHEERLEADERS IN CHAINS, but shooting was temporarily halted because a co-star has to arrive from California. After your small crew and cast went their ways, the body of your sound man Carl Goble was found in a creek near where you had been shooting. Accurate so far?"
She gave a wry closed-lips smile. "You've been doing some digging. How did Carl die? He was no kid, maybe it was natural causes."
"No," said Bane, keeping an eye on the mouth of the alley as a young couple strolled past. "My sources tell me cause of death is being kept secret for now but it was definitely homicide."
"Damn, you are too poker-faced. I can't read you at all."
"Good. I haven't been out to the scene yet. I need first-hand observation, I'll check it out and get back to you."
Amber Risk seemed to notice for the first time that her cigarette had gone out. "Oh. Hey, I have to get back to work. Mr Bane, we're starting to shoot again tomorrow. Mike Bronze is supposed to be ready by then. Why don't you drive me out there? I'll introduce you to everyone."
"That could make things easier," the Dire Wolf said after the slightest moment of considering. "All right."
"I like your attitude, really. Millions of men would LOVE to get me in their car and you act like it's maybe worth it. Stop here tomorrow morning, okay? Say, nine o'clock. It's an hour drive."
"I'll be here." Starting to walk out of the alley, Bane paused and said over his shoulder. "I'm sure you are careful about your safety already. But double your guard. We don't know the killer's agenda yet. You could be next on some list."
Amber pulled open the green-painted steel door behind her. "Heh. How could I be safer than having the Dire Wolf next to me?"
III.
On heels too high for comfort and wearing a red dress with spangles that caught the streetlights, Amber Risk click-clacked down a deserted side street. It was one-twenty in the morning. She had stayed to do an extra strip act because the tips had been good. now a thick rolls of bills held by a rubber band sat reassuringly in her black leather shoulder bag... next to the snub-nosed .22 revolver that gave her even more reassurance. She had been thinking about Jeremy Bane all night. What a strange guy. She was sure he was straight and yet he had been so indifferent about her. Since she had been fourteen, Amber had gotten used to guys falling all over themselves to get her attention. What was the deal with this Dire Wolf guy?
She had heard such crazy stories about him catching not only serial killers and black magic cultists but real no-fooling monsters out of horror films. And she had never laughed at these tales. The people telling them had been obviously shaken. Now, in the gloom of a poorly lit street in the dead of night, just thinking about the Undead andf the skull-faced men and the men with rattlesnake fangs made her feel like she was freezing.
Too deep in thought for her usual alertness, she did not see the short stocky man who had turned the corner at Tenth Avenue and who was following her at a distance of a block. His sneakers made no noise on the stained sidewalk. Bundled up in a worn-out topcoat, wool cap pulled low, not much could be made out of his appearance. When Amber slowed to dig for a cigarette, the follower sped up his pace.
And he was snatched out of sight. Two frighteningly strong hands darted out from a doorway, one clamping his jaw shut and the other wrapping around his chest to crack his ribs. The stalker was lifted up off his feet entirely and slammed up against the inside of the doorway, unable to draw a breath.
On the corner, Amber Risk swung around. What was that? She had heard something. She slid her hand into her handbag to close around the butt of her revolver and she started off much quicker than before. The shoddy hotel she was staying at was not far away.
Easing up slightly, Jeremy Bane whispered, "Shhh. It's important you don't make a sound right now." He lowered the man so his feet touched the ground again and let him breathe.
"Ahh...ahh," the stalker gasped but he did not try to break free. He was shocked to see how thin his attacker was. From the way he had been manhandled, he had expected some huge hulking brute.
Checking to be certain that Amber was out of sight, Bane turned his full attention to his captive. "Now you can start talking..."
"I didn't do nothing wrong, lemme go. I don't have any money, mister."
"Yeah right," the Dire Wolf said in his low intense tones. "Do you know who that woman was?"
"I can't tell you anything, I don't dare talk." The man suddenly stiffened and began hyperventilating, swiveling his head from side to side. "Ah! It hurts! Help me, help me!" And hot black blood gushed from his mouth and nose so forcefully that Bane was lucky it missed splattering all over him. He jumped back and released the man who was dead before he crumbled to the ground and lay as he fell.
Bane only stared down at the bloody corpse for a second before leaping out in the street and striding after Amber. There could be someone else after her. This had not been a mundane robber or would-be rapist. The stalker dying dramatically like that before he could talk showed someone with gralic powers had intervened. Bane scowled as he spotted Amber, still safe and entering the lobby of the Paradise Hotel. He slowed and waited until he saw she was inside.
Down the block was a pay phone. Bane decided he would make an anonymous call to NYPD about seeing what looked like a dead body in a doorway on Tenth Avenue. This case had suddenly become much more important. It wasn't just some sleazy murde in the porn business. This was Midnight War.
IV.
It took more than two hours to get to the North Shore out on Long Island because Amber insisted on stopping at gas stations to make phone calls. Impatient at the best of times, Bane inwardly fumed but had to put up with it. The variant metabolism that gave him his enhanced speed also made him chronically restless and hungry, so long car drives were an ordeal.
Hopping back in, Amber Risk said, "Great, great, everyone's ready. We'll be there in another ten minutes." She was wearing white sneakers, blue jeans and a basic dark blue T-shirt with a picture of the Milky Way on it. Not overly tight, not flashy at all, her clothing matched her minimal make-up and simple ponytail to show she was not eager for attention.
Easing his Mustang back out into traffic, the Dire Wolf said, "You were telling me about your retirement plans."
"Oh yeah, absolutely. I know what happens to girls in adult entertainment. They get ground up and spit out! Not me, brother. In two years on my twenty-first birthday, I'm going to film my last scene and I'll already be enrolled in a college. I'm not getting within sight of cocaine and I don't drink. My money's staying in the bank." She added almost to herself, "I do need a financial advisor, though, maybe an IRA would be the best idea."
"Glad to hear this."
She turned those dark eyes on him and tilted her head. "Seen any of my movies?"
"No." Just the one word with no emotional content.
"Really? They're pretty popular. LONG WEEKEND WITH AMBER made a truckload of money for the video company. You don't like sex movies?"
"I don't watch any movies," he said. "Busy. I'm not making any judgement by it."
"You know, I can NOT figure you out. At all. You don't give anything away."
At a red light, he turned toward her for an instant. "My job does that. I don't want people to tell what I'm thinking or what I know. It becomes a habit."
"I want a serious answer. All the crazy stories about you and monsters. Vampires. Warlocks. Zombies. What's the truth?"
Bane sighed almost inaudibly. "All true. And worse than anything you might have heard. There are creatures of the night preying on Humans that would give you nightmares if you saw them. And a few people with knowledge go out to fight them. It's called the Midnight War."
"I knew it! I knew there's more going on than we're told about. You know, for thousands of years, cultures all over the world have believed in werewolves and ghosts and whatever. And you yourself have dealt with these things?"
"Yes. I don't try to convince anyone about these things," Bane said. "Maybe it's better that everyone nervously looks the other way and acts like there is no supernatural. Is that Dorset Road coming up?"
"Huh? Oh. Yeah, turn left at that road sign. Mr Everett's house is up that road." She leaned back and dug around in her handbag for a cigarette. "Eek, only two more. I hope Jazzy's got a pack."
Going up the side street, they passed large, well-kept houses separated by considerable yards. Long Island Sound's water could be seen glittering in the sun not far beyond. The road ended with a two-story frame building that looked as if it might have started life as a farmhouse. A white VW van and a dark Ford Malibu were parked on the gravel next to the house, and several people were huddled nearby. At the sound of Bane's car approached, the group stirred and swung around to greet them.
As Amber jumped out and everyone was excitedly greeting each other with hugs and cheek kisses, Bane emerged from behind the wheel. He took in the terrain carefully. From speaking with the police and checking maps, he knew that to their west was the creek where the body had been found. That was something he wanted to examine right away.
"Mr Bane! Hey, come meet everyone!" called Amber, waving urgently. The Dire Wolf walked over, started shaking hands and smiling as much as he could manage, which was still barely perceptible. Amber had already given him names and descriptions of the crew which numbered five, including Amber herself.
The director was a tall lanky black man named Jimmy B. Best. His most striking feature was the short bristling beard which wagged as he spoke. The other woman performer was an older, busty blonde called Jazzy. The cameraman was a beer-bellied over-jovial guy calling himself Herman the German. And the male performer who had just arrived was a reasonably fit and handsome young man, Mike Bronze. Probably his deep West Coast tan was the inspiration for that stage name. Saying a polite "nice to meet you," to each of them, Bane was sure he could uncover their real names and pasts if the investigation led him that way.
"Time is money, time is money," Johnny B Best announced. "We've got to get the hottest scenes ever captured on film done today. Girls, get into your cheerleader outfits. All the restraints and cuffs are in the van. Sad as it is what happened to Carl, it does leave us shorthanded. I'll have to operate the boom myself. Unless, Mr Bane, you would like to help out...?"
That took the Dire Wolf by surprise, but he was used to not showing any reaction. "Sorry. I'm going to look over the area and make sure it's safe. Murder is my business, not movie-making."
"You... don't want to watch me and Amber do girl-girl?" asked Jazzy as if her heart was broken. "Live? In person? So close you could touch us?"
"It's bondage stuff," Amber added hopefully.
"Nothing personal," replied Bane as he started walking toward where he knew the creek was. "I just want to guarantee you're all alive to make more movies."
V.
The creek was wider across and faster moving than he had expected. About one hundred feet further on, he could see through scattered trees a low stone wall made of loose irregular rocks to mark the property boundaries. Bane located the spot where a rounded boulder broke the surface, that was where the body of the sound man had been found. He moved carefully closer, but the soft muddy ground had been trampled by many feet already.
Bane had no intention of telling anyone involved that he had already studied the police reports and had a long talk with two homicide detectives involved. It was all off the record and undocumented and would be denied, but the NYPD had for years used Bane as an unofficial weapon in cases which smelled of the occult. The Midnight War would never be mentioned in court, but it had to be dealt with. In truth, he had not been hired by any client to investigate Carl Goble's murder. He was acting on his own.
Goble had been completely naked, lying face up in running water which had washed away all the blood from the deep slash across his throat and which had cleaned the fresh brand on his chest... the esoteric symbol of an oval split by a diagonal lightning bolt. The sign of Red Sect. This was not going to be made public knowledge.
Fifteen minutes crawled by and Bane straightened up, looking more sour than ever. He hadn't found anything worth mentioning. Despite all the training his KDF teammate Michael Hawk had been teaching him, the Dire Wolf was no deductive genius. Hawk could glance at someone's hands or watch them walk, and then immediately rattle off a dozen observations. That was beyond Bane, for now at least. When the action started, when the fists and guns came into play, when someone had to be chased across rooftops or when three enraged goons were charging, the Dire Wolf was at his best. But he seemed to be wasting time here.
Turning to retrace his steps back toward the house where the filming was going on, Bane thought about Red Sect. That cult had no pretension of high-sounding goals or mystic justification. Founded by the Lundborg brothers sixty years earlier, Red Sect was bluntly out to use gralic lore to amass great wealth, enjoy depraved orgies, avenge imagined slights. They were basically sleazy crimelords using magic. He and his KDF team had broken three of the cult's local covens but no one knew how many there were or how to track them all down.
No one was in sight at the house. Amber had told him it belonged to a producer at Excite Video and he often loaned it out to film crews who had shown they wouldn't trash the place. GilbertEverett had a reputation for wild parties, according to the research Bane had done but he had managed to never get the police called on him. Everett was an obvious suspect to be a Red Sect warlock but first Bane wanted to observe the film crew themselves. The van was parked facing the house. Going by the angles, he wouldn't be visible to anyone inside. Finding the back doors unlocked, the Dire Wolf casually started searching the interior.
So much trash and debris. Items of female clothing in loose piles. A dozen empty Styrofoam coffee cups and many fast food wrappers. Two copies of entertainment industry magazines, a tangle of connecting cables for a VHS player and a portable black and white TV. Loose receipts, sunglasses, pennies and for some reason an empty five pound dog food bag. Bane searched quickly and methodically. It wasn't until he dug under the driver's seat that he found a plastic bag containing six bundles of white powder wrapped neatly in cling film. It didn't really matter to him if it was cocaine or heroin, its presence was hardly unexpected. No guns, no weapons of any kind, and more importantly, no tiny trinkets with any possible mystic significance.
The way the other cars were parked meant that he could be seen from inside the house. As many laws as Bane broke on a constant basis, he didn't feel justified in antagonizing anyone yet. He moved toward the red-painted house with its porch that ran across the front and had a swinging bench hanging from chains. The front door was wide open. Before he joined the crew, though, he was starving.
Bane's enhanced reflexes had the price of a hyper metabolism that made him always jumpy, restless and ravenous. He ate enough for two ordinary men and still remained gaunt. Opening the trunk of his Mustang, he took out a paper bag containing a twelve inch turkey sub, a bag of trail mix and a large bran muffin. He plowed through it all so quickly he hardly tasted any of it. Done within minutes, Bane chugged a sixteen ounce bottle of seltzer without pause. The belch which escaped took away somewhat from his natural reserve.
Feeling a bit more sanguine, he entered the house, passed into the living room and heard voices from the adjoining kitchen. Seated at a round table under a picture window, Amber and Jazzy were naked except for open front-button sweaters with a red letter R on the left. The director Jimmy B Best was making notes on a few pieces of paper that served as the rudimentary script, and Mike Bronze was slumped back in his chair wrapped in a fuzzy gold-colored bathrobe. Herman the German was over by the sink, leaning back with a bottle of beer in one beefy hand. "Hey, want a Heineken?"
"Wow, you missed a lot of fun" laughed Jazzy. She tugged open a big bag of potato skins which Amber immediately helped herself to. "This movie is going to pull in big bucks. I should negotiate for a percentage, you know?"
In contrast, Amber Risk gave the Dire Wolf a cool, appraising look. "Find anything?"
"Not much," Bane admitted. "The scene was trampled. I'm now going to be asking questions that the cops have already hit you with, but that can't be helped. The last night everyone was here, what order did you guys leave?"
"Sure," Best answered distractedly as he scribbled. "Um, Herman and I were in the van with the equipment, we took off at seven-forty. I remember because we had a debate about how long it would take to get back to Penn Station."
"I left the same time in my rusted out crapwagon," said Jazzy.
Bane turned toward Amber, and she finished chewing a big mouthful of chips before answering. "I waited here. I had a friend coming to get me and he called to say he was gonna be delayed. Carl asked if I wanted to get a ride with him and I said no, my friend was already on his way." She stared down at the floor. "I should have gone with Carl! Maybe he'd still be alive if I'd been with him..."
"Honey, you couldn't have known," Best put in gently. "It didn't have anything to do with you."
"None of us knew Carl that well." Herman the German finished his beer and moved closer. "Stuffy old coot. Jimmy hired him through an agency."
For the next hour, Bane put the expected questions toward them, watching each reaction as another spoke and comparing every detail. They had of course been grilled this way at length by police and it showed in how smooth their explanations had become. Everything was matching what the homicide detectives had told him. "Now I want to know a little bit about Gilbert Everett. This is his house?"
"You bet," Jazzy replied. She and Amber were both smoking at this point. "He's THE bigshot at the video company. He lets crews film here to cut production costs. That's fine. The problem is then he throws parties here where he expects the girls to service his creepy old vulture friends."
"He's been giving me a hard time because I will not go ahead with that," said Amber. "Making movies is one thing but I'm not going to be passed around like a toy."
Bane had stepped back so he could see everyone's expressions at once. The whole time, he had seemed detached, almost disinterested, but he was actually taking in vast amounts of observations. "I think I'd like to meet this Mr Everett."
"Easy enough," said Best. "He's having a party tonight at nine. But... I don't know. If you see anything illegal, what are you going to do?"
"You mean drugs? I don't care about that at this point. I can look the other way with plausible deniability. But," Bane added, "If there's any violence, any sexual coercion, I'm obligated to intervene. And I would anyway."
That made Amber smile. "I think I'd feel a lot safer with Mr Bane here!"
Mike yawned and stretched, speaking for the first time. "Guess I'm ready for another round. Everyone brush their teeth and touch up their make-up."
"Mike's good for three money shots in twelve hours," chuckled Jazzy. "You can tell he's only twenty-four. That's why he's so much in demand."
"That and my sheer screen charisma," the tall tanned man said. "I'm a born star!
"We're going to take turns on Mike and then team up." Amber Risk said, snubbing out a final cigarette in a white ceramic ashtray. "I guarantee it'll hold your interest."
But the Dire Wolf was already leaving the kitchen. "Thanks, but no. I'll be back before nine. For now, I have to concentrate on this case. There's still at least one killer on the loose."
For the next half hour, Bane walked around the property, not sure what he was looking for. In the far back corner, by the base of a dying cherry tree was a loose pile of fallen branches that had been gathered together. The dirt under it looked as if it had been disturbed. Immediately suspicious, he began tossing the branches aside. Someone had definitely been up to something here. The Dire Wolf found a long flat stone that seemed serviceable, dropped to his knees and started digging with his usual energetic approach.
Buried less than a foot down, he found a blowtorch. Under it was a thin steel rod eight inches long, with a round disc set at an angle at one end. Bane examined the design on the end, and it was the oval split by lightning again. A branding iron. After only a minute's thought, he replaced the items and filled the dirt back in. Then he replaced the fallen branches and debris as closely to their original appearance as he could manage. Now he had a couple of theories about what had happened but he wanted to speak to Everett first.
Striding briskly back up to the house, he got back in his car. Back to Manhattan. His KDF team was out on a mission, but he needed food and a few hours sleep. The night before, he had watched the Paradise Hotel to be sure no further stalkers were after Amber. When he had seen her emerge onto the sidewalk, he had hurried to the garage on 40th Street to fetch his Mustang and then go meet her. On the drive back to the KDF headquarters, Bane turned over every detail of the case repeatedly in his mind, thinking about possible motives, considering who might be affiliated with Red Sect, remembering the various reactions the film crew had shown in their interactions with him.
As he tended toward a conclusion, Bane felt an unfamiliar twinge of sadness. Michael Hawk had warned him right at the start that detective work made you cynical and disillusioned. Bane had always told himself he was hard and cold but if he really was that way, he would not have had to convince himself.
VI.
At nine-twenty, the Dire Wolf returned to find every window in the house blazing. Classical music streamed out into the cool night air, but he had no idea what composer it was. In addition to the white van and Jazzy's car, he counted eight other vehicles. They were all impressive, immaculately kept and gleaming with wax. A Lincoln Town Car. A Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost. A BMW. Very nice. Bane unclipped the Link from his belt and swung the advanced Trom-made device to record the scene and document all the license plates before moving toward the house.
At the door, Amber Risk greeted him with a squeal. "There you are! Come in." She had changed to tan slacks and a black V-neck sweater over a white blouse. The effect was that of a proper college student. The black hair had been brushed out so it hung down her back to the waistline.
"Hello," Bane said. "What do I need to know right now?"
She grabbed his arm and tugged him over on the porch away from the open door. "Oh brother, I need to tell you this. I've been thinking about that Midnight War business you told me about. I am convinced that Everett is in some sort of Black Magic cult. Satanists, devil worshippers, witches, whatever you want to call it."
"Why do you think that?"
An older couple strolled by, the aroma of cigar smoke drifting behind them, and Amber waited until they had passed. "Lots of little comments. The word 'ceremony' and 'ritual' kept coming up when he talked to his friends. Everett hinted a lot about all the special knowledge he had. And two girls came to a party and just fell off the Earth. That happens a lot in the adult industry, to tell the truth, performers show up or don't, there's a lot of turnover."
Bane made a non-committal sound. "Did you ever hear the phrase 'Those Who Remember?'"
"No. Not that I remember."
" 'The Preincarnators?'"
"What kind of word is that? No, never."
"How about 'Red Sect?'"
"Yes! Oh my God." She jabbed an imperative finger at him. "I thought he was saying 'red sex' or 'rough sex,' you know? And I didn't want to encourage him, so I never said anything in return. What does it mean?"
"It's an occult group," Bane said. "You were right not to talk about it. I wouldn't mention it now either. Let's go in, okay?"
In the doorway to that crowded room, Bane's Kumundu training kicked in full blast. Within one second, he registered details of all sixteen people who were buzzing in conversation. He took in who was looking in his direction, which looked like they might be armed or be able to fight barehanded, how everyone was interacting. This was automatic and a major part of the Kumundu martial art. He could not have turned it off if he had tried.
Except for the film crew he had already met, everyone there was middle-aged or old. They were well dressed and impeccably groomed. Most were drinking cocktails or glasses of champagne, and the smoke from cigars and pipes tinged the air. Only a few heads turned at glimpsing Amber and Bane entering, and those did not seem particularly interested. With one exception.
Standing in the center of that room with a dozen people circled around him was the obvious host. Gilbert Everett had apparently once been a handsome, imposing man. Now hitting his late sixties, the leonine head of hair had thinned and turned white. The tall body had bent forward and the jawline had softened. When the producer saw the man entering, his face went white as if a magic trick had been performed. He visibly gasped.
Naturally, everyone swung their heads to see what had alarmed him and they all stopped talking at once. The crowd froze. Jeremy Bane invariably intimidated people. The lean, tense body all in black, the narrow somber face, the pale grey eyes under heavy feral brows, all combined into an ominous effect. It was as if a real wolf had entered the room.
To her credit, Amber broke the moment by breezily pulling the Dire Wolf to the crowd. "Hey, everyone, this is the real no-fooling private eye I mentioned. Jeremy Bane. Isn't he kind of hot?" That was enough. Everyone saw that Everett had regained his composure, and since the music was still playing, the people started chatting again.\\
Bane watched Everett excuse himself and approach. The Kumundu training said no attack was imminent, either physical or magical. In fact, Everett had all the clues of a man in mortal terror but trying to hide it. Everything from the opened irises to the tension in the raised shoulders said so. This was unexpected. When the man extended his hand, Bane shook it politely enough.
"I can't say I was looking forward to meeting you," Everett managed. The subvocal tremors were marked. The man's breathing was more short and rapid than normal.
Bane kept his voice subdued. "This doesn't have to end badly. I didn't come here to nail you."
"This is about the man whose body was found, right? The microphone operator?"
"Yes."
"All right. All right. Are the police on their way? Or do you intend to use those famous silver daggers on my throat?" As Everett spoke, a dowager in an elegant white dress approached and he waved her away.
"No. Listen. Take a minute and tell me what your defense would be if I were about to arrest you. What would you so?"
Everett seemed confused but less frightened by that question. He drew himself up taller and for the first time seemed a little confident. "Obviously I'm no saint. You know that. I ruined a few business rivals using gralic tricks. And it's no secret I pressure the women in these movies to sleep with me. That's wrong by any standard, what can I say? It's my sin. It's why I'm in the sect. But I have never killed anyone or ordered anyone killed. I just haven't."
Every tiny flicker of the man's eyes and every variation in his voice added to the confirmation that he was telling the truth. Nothing was ever a hundred per cent certain, and Bane had been fooled a few times by subtle liars. Reading body language, even with Tel Shai techniques, could only be taken as circumstantial evidence. He realized Everett was starting to wilt under his cold gaze.
"One thing," he said. "I'm guessing that something was stolen you don't want to talk about?"
That hit a raw nerve like a needle poke. Gilbert Everett moved back a step and his eyes bulged as he lost self-control. "What? What?! Did YOU take it?"
"No. I've never been out here before today. Everett, I have no reason to spare your life. You're a warlock in a Red Sect coven. Maybe you're not a murderer like you claim but some would call you a rapist. I may come back soon for a more conclusive meeting." He leaned forward slightly and saw the panic surge in the man's eyes. "But not right now."
He did not say so at the moment, but Bane had not forgotten the thug who had suddenly and inexplicably died with blood shooting out his mouth and nose the night before. That had been a gralic death curse. He had already decided that Everett would pay for the killing but he wanted to clear up Carl's murder first.
Bane turned and caught Amber's eye across the room. She had been chatting with two men in tailored suits complete with vests. To their utter dismay, she immediately started toward him. "I think I have some progress to report," he said. "Let's get some air."
VII.
Leaning back against the crew's VW van, Amber pulled a lone cigarette from her shirt pocket and continued, "So I'm sure CHEERLEADERS IN CHAINS is going to be going to be the biggest adult film ever! I looked unbearably cute in that cheerleader outfit and my character seems all naive and innocent at first. Fans love to see good girls go bad..."
"Gilbert Everett doesn't seem as tough-minded as I expected," Bane said to cut her off.
"Him? Nah. He's a wimp. I bet he's never even been in a fistfight. I could see he was about to piss himself when you stared at him. Heh heh."
"He forces the actresses into sex?"
"No. Not so much FORCES as he keeps being a pest. He won't blacklist you if you don't play the game but he does reward you with better parts, more publicity, you know? He's been getting on my nerves big time. He'll pester but he won't force."
In the light from the house, Bane's unusual eyes seemed like silver. "That's bad enough. Would you want him to be arrested? Go to prison?"
"Oh, would I ever!" She took a deep drag and the end of the cigarette flared up like an ember. "I have daydreams about it. Him being in jail would be a granted prayer, Mr Bane."
"I've been getting reports from people that work with me in Manhattan. They found the branding iron."
"Oh no, that's imposs..." Her voice cut short. "Wait, what?"
The Dire Wolf was standing facing her, arms folded across his chest. "You were going to say it's impossible they found it."
"I'm confused. It's been a long day, my head is tired. I don't know what you're going on about."
The Dire Wolf had positioned himself so he could see anyone approaching from any angle. From the porch twenty yards away came the sounds of a disagreement veering toward outright argument. "He's Red Sect, Amber. Every time I tag one of them, I feel the world gets a little safer. And cleaner."
"Did you know Carl had joined this Red Sect craziness? They promised him lots of coke, which he loved, and that some of the girls would take care of him. Carl watches us going at it all day, but he never gets away. It was eating him up."
Bane stepped closer. "I don't think Everett killed your sound man. My opinion, Everett doesn't have the nerve to go through with any violence up close and personal."
"No. Someone stole his damn branding iron and ritual knife, and used them on Carl. Someone who figured the police would grab Gilbert Everett and lock him up until he dies."
"Someone like you?" asked the Dire Wolf.
"Yeah. Someone like me. Listen, Mr Bane.. Jeremy. We both want the same thing. Who wouldn't? We should work together and shove Everett into Rikers Island." She chuckled in the gloom. "I wouldn't be a bad partner to work with and honestly, I think you and I could have some fun together afterwards."
For a long moment, silence hung around them. Bane exhaled hard. "I'm actually sorry, Amber. I was hoping it really was Everett who did the murder."
"So what? It'll still work out for the best. Carl was no better than Everett. Come on, let's make our plans. I've got a few ideas."
Reaching to his belt, Bane tapped the flat Link device clipped to his belt. "You get all that, captain?"
"Perfectly," replied a gruff male voice. "Recorded and transcribed. You're authorized to detain her, Bane. Two squad cars are five minutes away."
Godamm it, you set me up! You're wearing a wire."
"Yes," Bane said simply. "So Carl agreed to meet you at that creek after everyone else had left. He thought he was in for a good time. Right?"
Amber Risk tapped him on the chest with a forefinger that dug in. "Nothing is going to happen to me. Look at me. I'm too pretty for jail. I was abused. I'm the victim. I'm not going to be convicted."
"I'm not the jury," said Bane.
9/10/2024.
