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"To Dust We Return"
Jul. 16th, 2023 02:38 pm"To Dust We Return"
6/14/2023
I.
Jeremy Bane was in a restless, troubled mood. The hyper metabolism which gave him his enhanced speed and reflexes also charged him with excess energy that had to constantly be burned off. Already that morning, he had gone through his DohRa form, showered and changed into what was practically his uniform of black slacks, turtleneck and sports jacket. And now he was at a loss what to do for the rest of the day. There were no threats in the air as far as he could see. The Midnight War had certainly quieted down since the hectic days when he had led the KDF against the likes of Karl Eldritch, the Preincarnators or Wu Lung.
Pacing around a living room so free from clutter that it seemed no one lived there, the Dire Wolf tried without success to calm down. At sixty-five, he still showed few signs of age other than a scattering of white in the short black hair and lines at the outer corners of those pale grey eyes. He was still lean to the point of seeming gaunt and he circled the room with the easy stride of a much younger man.
The day before, he had called Sable to see if the newest KDF team had anything on hand and had been regretfully told no. He had phoned Sheng at the Fist For Hire agency and gotten the same wry answer. It had been weeks since any sightings of paranormal activity, crypto-beasts or new criminal masterminds. Maybe it was time to return to Tel Shai for a week. He would spend some welcome time with Cindy, get more intense training from Teacher Chael, maybe add annotations to the Great Archives. Yes. That was a good idea.
Bane paused in front of the picture window which looked out on Pierpont Street. A dark blue Subaru Outback was coming to a stop against the curb. That was Police Detective Chatcuff's car and there was the short stocky form of Harvey Chatcuff himself getting out to walk up the short flagstone path across Bane's tiny front yard. The Dire Wolf felt his spirits lift as if hearing a bugle calling charge. Something was up!
As he waited by the door, Bane thought again about how Megan Salenger had repeatedly tried to install Trom scanners on the steps outside to check for ID matches in NYPD or Mandate files, as well as sensors to read off a visitor's height and weight, blood pressure, heartbeat and whether or not large bits of metal were on his person. Bane had refused. He had thought at the time he was actually retiring from the Midnight War. Now, when he remembered Megan, he wished he had humored her. It would have made her happy.
As the doorbell rang, the Dire Wolf took a deep breath. He was counting on his Kunmundu training to be sure that this was Harvey Chatcuff and that the
body language indicated no intention to attack. Opening the door, he swung sideways and gestured for the man to enter. "Detective Chatcuff! I know there's trouble when you drive all the way out here to Forest Hills."
"Hiya, Bane," came the strongly New Yawk accented voice. "Nobody else here?"
"No. Sit down and tell me what disaster you want me to stop."
Lowering himself to a chair facing the leather-covered couch, Chatfuff unbottoned his suit jacket to let his paunch breathe a little. "I have to give the usual speech first. This is unoffical, off the record, unauthorized and all that. The Department does not use you as a freelance vigilante. In fact, I didn't even come here today."
Bane dropped down on the couch, clasping his hands together as he felt alive for the first time in a week. "Understood."
"I don't even have any photos or reports or anything to show you. But I know your memory is good. First victim was Howard John Nivens, 48, lived on Sycamore Avenue in Glenville, Long Island. He was found Monday morning between two residential houses. Both lungs were crammed full of dry dirt."
The Dire Wolf's pale eyes lit up. "That's something new."
"I sure never heard of such a thing. And the ME is so stumped he yells at anyone who asks him how it was done. Then, last night at two-thirty in the morning, a man's body was found behind a Chinese restaurant on Broadway in Carlinton, Long Island. Name was Stan Woodrow. Age 41. His chest was crushed flat, sternum cracked and every rib broken. And like Nivens, it's a mystery how he was killed."
"Yeah? Why is that?" It never occurred to Bane to offer coffee or tea to his visitor. His manners would never be polished.
"Well, the captain has an idea that someone put a flat piece of wood or metal on his body and then drove over it with a car. Sounds plausible. But Woodrow was found sprawled up against the wall of the Chinese restaurant and the forensic guys found fibers from his coat pressed into the bricks. Some blood as well."
Despite himself, the Dire Wolf got up on his feet and began pacing. He couldn't help it, being restless under the best of conditions. "Oh, this is interesting. Let me think about it. I suppose it could still be done. Two guys hold the victim up against the restaurant wall with a board across his chest. Then a third man drives a car or truck forward slowly to press against the board. The victim falls, they grab the board and ride away."
"Could be. But there's one more interesting detail. Bane, dirt was found pressed into the fabric of the front of Woodrow's coat and shirt. Lab says it's identical to the soil that killed Nivens."
( the rest of the story )
6/14/2023
I.
Jeremy Bane was in a restless, troubled mood. The hyper metabolism which gave him his enhanced speed and reflexes also charged him with excess energy that had to constantly be burned off. Already that morning, he had gone through his DohRa form, showered and changed into what was practically his uniform of black slacks, turtleneck and sports jacket. And now he was at a loss what to do for the rest of the day. There were no threats in the air as far as he could see. The Midnight War had certainly quieted down since the hectic days when he had led the KDF against the likes of Karl Eldritch, the Preincarnators or Wu Lung.
Pacing around a living room so free from clutter that it seemed no one lived there, the Dire Wolf tried without success to calm down. At sixty-five, he still showed few signs of age other than a scattering of white in the short black hair and lines at the outer corners of those pale grey eyes. He was still lean to the point of seeming gaunt and he circled the room with the easy stride of a much younger man.
The day before, he had called Sable to see if the newest KDF team had anything on hand and had been regretfully told no. He had phoned Sheng at the Fist For Hire agency and gotten the same wry answer. It had been weeks since any sightings of paranormal activity, crypto-beasts or new criminal masterminds. Maybe it was time to return to Tel Shai for a week. He would spend some welcome time with Cindy, get more intense training from Teacher Chael, maybe add annotations to the Great Archives. Yes. That was a good idea.
Bane paused in front of the picture window which looked out on Pierpont Street. A dark blue Subaru Outback was coming to a stop against the curb. That was Police Detective Chatcuff's car and there was the short stocky form of Harvey Chatcuff himself getting out to walk up the short flagstone path across Bane's tiny front yard. The Dire Wolf felt his spirits lift as if hearing a bugle calling charge. Something was up!
As he waited by the door, Bane thought again about how Megan Salenger had repeatedly tried to install Trom scanners on the steps outside to check for ID matches in NYPD or Mandate files, as well as sensors to read off a visitor's height and weight, blood pressure, heartbeat and whether or not large bits of metal were on his person. Bane had refused. He had thought at the time he was actually retiring from the Midnight War. Now, when he remembered Megan, he wished he had humored her. It would have made her happy.
As the doorbell rang, the Dire Wolf took a deep breath. He was counting on his Kunmundu training to be sure that this was Harvey Chatcuff and that the
body language indicated no intention to attack. Opening the door, he swung sideways and gestured for the man to enter. "Detective Chatcuff! I know there's trouble when you drive all the way out here to Forest Hills."
"Hiya, Bane," came the strongly New Yawk accented voice. "Nobody else here?"
"No. Sit down and tell me what disaster you want me to stop."
Lowering himself to a chair facing the leather-covered couch, Chatfuff unbottoned his suit jacket to let his paunch breathe a little. "I have to give the usual speech first. This is unoffical, off the record, unauthorized and all that. The Department does not use you as a freelance vigilante. In fact, I didn't even come here today."
Bane dropped down on the couch, clasping his hands together as he felt alive for the first time in a week. "Understood."
"I don't even have any photos or reports or anything to show you. But I know your memory is good. First victim was Howard John Nivens, 48, lived on Sycamore Avenue in Glenville, Long Island. He was found Monday morning between two residential houses. Both lungs were crammed full of dry dirt."
The Dire Wolf's pale eyes lit up. "That's something new."
"I sure never heard of such a thing. And the ME is so stumped he yells at anyone who asks him how it was done. Then, last night at two-thirty in the morning, a man's body was found behind a Chinese restaurant on Broadway in Carlinton, Long Island. Name was Stan Woodrow. Age 41. His chest was crushed flat, sternum cracked and every rib broken. And like Nivens, it's a mystery how he was killed."
"Yeah? Why is that?" It never occurred to Bane to offer coffee or tea to his visitor. His manners would never be polished.
"Well, the captain has an idea that someone put a flat piece of wood or metal on his body and then drove over it with a car. Sounds plausible. But Woodrow was found sprawled up against the wall of the Chinese restaurant and the forensic guys found fibers from his coat pressed into the bricks. Some blood as well."
Despite himself, the Dire Wolf got up on his feet and began pacing. He couldn't help it, being restless under the best of conditions. "Oh, this is interesting. Let me think about it. I suppose it could still be done. Two guys hold the victim up against the restaurant wall with a board across his chest. Then a third man drives a car or truck forward slowly to press against the board. The victim falls, they grab the board and ride away."
"Could be. But there's one more interesting detail. Bane, dirt was found pressed into the fabric of the front of Woodrow's coat and shirt. Lab says it's identical to the soil that killed Nivens."
( the rest of the story )
