"You Give Ugly a Bad Name"
May. 15th, 2022 09:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"You Give Ugly A Bad Name"
2/1-2/6/2004
I.
He had been drifting up into consciousness and then sinking back down again for the longest time. Everything hurt. Despite the pain, despite his body wanting to remain unaware, part of his mind never gave up. Each time he regained consciousness, he tried to hold onto it longer without knowing why. He was sitting up. On a floor, with his back against something. Finally, he held on long enough to open one eye, the other one refusing to work. It was a cold dim room. Vague light come from a heavily curtained window to his left. He sank into darkness again. Finally, he stirred enough to look around. Near at hand was a gallon jug of water and he desperately wanted it. It seemed to take hours to make his arm reach for the jug, for his hands to fumble the plastic lid off, but finally he drank. Even in his dazed condition and with a ferocious thirst, he remembered enough to sip slowly until he was satisfied.
The water helped a lot. He must have been very dehydrated. Now Jeremy Bane remembered who he was and where he was. This was his secret hideout, the Chinatown apartment no other person knew about. Slowly getting to his knees, he reached over and grabbed a handful of beef jerky packets and ripped them open, chewing slowly. He was beginning to feel stronger. After a few more minutes, he tried to get up but fell back into a seated position. Finally, he settled for getting up on the beat-up old couch behind him. From there, he could reach the light switch.
The hideout looked the same. Weeks usually went by without his coming here. It was drab and unattractive, just a big room with a toilet and sink in one corner, with a tiny mirror over the sink. Jugs of water and cans of food were stacked along one wall. A radio sat on the floor, and there was a closet crammed with assorted clothing. On one wall was an old-fashioned clock whose hands said one-thirty. He figured it must be one-thirty in the morning by the dim light from the window. Bane was feeling a little better, but his body still ached all over. What had happened to him? He glanced down and saw his clothes were shredded, just strips of cloth hanging off him. The Trom metal armor on his body gleamed like wet silk in the vague light; it had not been pierced but he had obviously taken a lot of punishment. The armor was good but it wasn't perfect and some impact got through it.
Not feeling up to walking just yet, the Dire Wolf sipped more water and snagged a can of fruit cocktail, popping it open and eating the contents with his fingers. He began to take stock. All that was left in what remained of his pockets were the keys and his wallet. Could be worse, they were good item to retain, but his gun was gone and so was the Link and his watch. The two silver daggers were still strapped to his forearms, but one had a bent blade. That annoyed him. Bane finally got to his feet, swayed and stood still for a minute before slowly beginning to walk over to the sink.
His face was a mess, which did not surprise him considering how it felt. One eye was swollen shut. His nose had been broken and blood had dried on mouth and chin. The left side of his face was a purple bruise. Turning on warm water, he grabbed a washcloth and gingerly began cleaning up. Finally, he lowered his whole head into the sink and rinsed his hair to get the sweat out. Drying carefully, he studied the results sourly. It had been a long time since he had taken so much damage.
Now that his head was clearing, he walked slowly over to a round cannister on the pile of food and took out a handful of dried leaves. A mug sat on the shelf of the sink and he ran water in it until it was as hot as it would get, then crumpled the leaves in and stirred it with a finger. The Dire Wolf drained the contents in a gulp and immediately came back to normal. The tagra leaves were only available at Tel Shai. As a Tel Shai knight, he had been on a tagra diet for more than thirty years and his healing powers had been boosted past what medical science would recognize as possible.
He was almost moving at his normal pace. Bane went to check that the door and window were locked, then stripped off the armor and took a sponge bath by the sink. His body had zero fat, all long lean muscle like a runner and it was covered with bruises but now the pain had subsided to a dull ache. The Dire Wolf still could not remember what had happened to leave him in this state. He figured he had better put the Trom armor back on, so only his hands, neck and head were exposed. Discarding his ruined clothes in a corner, Bane went to the closet and dug out a pair of black jeans and a dark blue long-sleeved T-shirt. There was a bag of clean socks and underwear, and two pair of boots. He got dressed almost as quickly as he normally would, with an occasional wince or grunt.
The Dire Wolf went back to the couch to think. He still had no idea what the situation was. There was no phone here, either.
All he could figure was that he had been seriously injured, almost killed, and had managed to make it here. A sudden surge of cold anger rose up inside him at the realization. He finished the water and ate some more, a cold can of beans for protein.
Bane washed his hands and went back to the closet. He had decided not to keep an arsenal here but in the pocket of a black coat was a loaded .38 revolver and a box of shells. Great, there they were. He shrugged the coat on. There was a make-up kit in the closet and he carried it over to the sink to use the mirror. In his long career, he had only used disguises a handful of times but now he thought it was a good idea. Bane applied some pancake make-up to his face, working it in until the bruising was only a faint shadow. The broken nose he couldn't do anything about at the moment. A pair of glasses with a 20% tint helped hide the swollen eye. What else? Reluctantly, he combed a solution into his hair that left numerous gray strands until the natural black was almost gone. That would have to do. Bane frowned at his reflection. Disguises felt like hiding to him, but he had to be realistic thatsometimes they were necessary. Checking his gun again, making sure that daggers on his arms were ready to slid out when needed, he turned off the lights and opened the door a crack. No one was in the hallway.
Bane trotted silently down the worn stairs to the ground floor and stood by the front door for a second. The only other exit would set off an alarm. Finally, he opened it and stepped out into a freezing night and a deserted Mott Street. Great. As far as he could tell, no one had spotted him. Bane turned north and started walking quickly uptown.
II.
By the time he reached 44th Street, the Dire Wolf had warmed up through the exercise. He still was in pain but it was manageable. At an all-night deli, he bought some newspapers and carried them under one arm. Going to 2nd Avenue, he circled warily and slowly. His best efforts could not spot any watchers. Bane decided he had to trust his instincts. Going to the alley next to a four-story yellow brick building, he stepped up to the metal exit door. Now to see if the gadgets installed by Trom Girl still worked. He thumbed a patch on his key fob and a click sounded inside the door, which he swung open and stepped through quickly. The signal only deactivated the alarm for a few seconds. He was standing in a short hallway with a staircase to his left and a plain wooden door to his right. On that door, a brass plate said DIRE WOLF AGENCY. Unlocking it and closing it behind him, Bane stepped through a tiny waiting room into his office.
For the next five minutes, he examined the office suspiciously. There was no sign anyone had been in here. Aside from the Trom security devices he had installed above the door and window, he knew the exact angles of objects and the degree to which his chair had been pushed back when he had left. This was second nature to him after all these years. For the first time since he had regained consciousness, he let out a breath and relaxed. Taking off the glasses and coat, he put the revolver in his left pants pocket and dropped down behind his desk to go through the newspapers.
Here was another jolt. They all said Monday, February 4th. But it was Friday. Friday the 1st. Or at least it had been when he had left this office to go... go where? There was a blank spot. The last he could remember clearly was leaving this office around eleven on Friday night, just as the night watchman was about to lock the front doors. Bane scowled annoyedly. He opened his desk and took out his ledger but there was no record of any job undertaken on Friday. That was no help. Next, he picked up his cordless phone from his charger. He kept office calls seperate from his personal phone. The last call had been received from a number Bane recognized at once. Bleak. That figured. He glanced up at the wall clock behind him and saw it was three-thirty.
Without hesitation, he called the number and a bitter old voice answered at once. "Yeah? Bane, is that you?"
"Yes. Hope I didn't wake you."
"Ah, I don't sleep much. At my age, I keep getting up to pee. Listen, aren't you supposed to be dead?"
"Not that I know of," Bane said dryly. "What do you mean?"
"Your car was blown up Friday night. Down in Chinatown. Quite a blast, pieces flew up and down the street. Three people were injured, one lost a hand from debris. The police identified your car from a license plate and the VIN on the engine block."
"Where was I?"
"There were no witnesses who saw you. It was way below zero, almost no one was out on the street. Nobody's heard from you since. Your pals at 38th Street examined the scene but found nothing, not a trace of a body. They must be worried about you, old man."
"Thanks, I'll call them. I'm okay, Bleak. What did you call me about Friday night?"
"I told you Calico Sue is back in town. She was spotted in a bar down by Battery Park."
"I see. Okay, I'll get back to you. Do me a favor, though? Don't tell anyone you heard from me. I want to keep a low profile for the moment."
"Sure, Jeremy. I owe you that much. You've always done right by me."
Bane hung up. He wondered if maybe the new KDF team had been here after all. With Sable's perception powers, they could search the place without touching anything and she did have a key in case of emergencies. He called the headquarters building on East 38th Street and the voice of Josef Jubilec answered, "Hello?"
"Hi, Josef. I'm okay. Hope you guys weren't worried about me."
The Blind Archer snorted over the phone. "Worried? That's an understatement. We searched the area and pestered the police all night and the next day. Sable spotted a few drops of blood on the sidewalk and she claims she knows it was yours. Her perception must have limits, but she seems able to identify fainter clues than that. Even so, we could not find a trail to follow you. What happened?"
"I'm not sure myself just yet," Bane admitted reluctantly. "But I'll be working on it. Listen, I want you to tell the team I'm alive but keep it hush for the moment. I'll stop by once I resolve whatever mess I'm in."
Josef's voice was stern. "You know we want to help you, captain. You are still our leader, whether you officially stepped down or not."
"Thanks but I try to handle my own problems. You guys carry on and I'll come visit soon. So long."
"Good night, captain, or should I say good morning."
Hanging up, Bane drummed his fingers on the desk. This was a lot to digest. Whatever blast had destroyed his car, it had almost killed him as well. The tagra diet which gave him resiliency and healing factors had been enough that he survived. He must have gotten to his Mott Street hideout on just instinct without being seen while everyone was gathering around the ruined car. Bane still could not remember anything of that night, but he figured he had probably staggered into his hideout, dropped on the floor and passed out for two days.
LUcky to be alive, he thought. He started going through the papers and found a mention of the explosion, but no details that Bleak hadn't already given him. His name was not mentioned, just as well. Bane got up, stretched, and went over to lie down on the long leather couch beneath the window. The pain was almost gone now. Sometimes he wondered if the tagra healing would wear off at some point and his body would just fall apart into a puddle. He certainly had survived enough trauma to kill a dozen people in his career. Bane noticed his left eye was starting to open as the swelling quickly went down, he could see a glimmer through it. Looking up at the white tiled ceiling, he tried to remember what had happened Friday night. Nothing. Without meaning to, he drifted off into a deep natural sleep.
III.
When he woke up, it was after eight. Bane jumped to his feet and stretched experimentally. He felt normal. Going to the little bathroom next to the office door, he examined his face in the mirror. The bruise was a faint discoloration, his eye was open with only a little yellow beneath it. Great. With hot water from the sink, he washed up and toweled dry. He felt ravenous, but that was nothing unusual. The enchanced reflexes which gave him his abnormal speed also burned calories like a furnace. There was no refrigerator in his office, although he really needed to have one brought in. From a desk drawer, he took two cans of Ensure Plus and drained the high protein drinks in single gulps. Why in Hell don't I keep food here, he thought angrily. Picking up the office phone, he called Centre Street and got the extension for Lt Joseph Montez.
Bane explained that he was alive and well. The blast had missed him and he was investigating. He wanted to report that his gun was missing, just in case it had been found and someone used it to try to frame him. Montez said not to worry, forensics had found his pistol, damaged beyond any usefulness. They discussed the situation warily. Montez had been working with Bane for only two years, taking over after the death of Inspector Klein, and had grudgingly recognized how useful the Dire Wolf was in unusual cases. Without quite realizing, he had come to think of Bane as a specialist to be called in unofficially when the weird and the supernatural turned up. It was all off the record and deniable, but like other police detectives before him, Lt Montez had come to terms with having the Dire Wolf in his town.
Finally, Bane promised he would come down and answer all questions within the next few days but he had one request. He wanted Montez to not mention he was alive. Montez accepted this with a few disparaging comments, said he would keep quiet 48 hours and no more, then hung up. Bane almost smiled. Being a loose cannon was his nature. He knew he could trust Bleak and the KDF team to keep quiet, but he was testing Montez a little- if his being alive got out, he would know not to rely on the lieutenant in the future. Now he had to get to work. Going to the closet by the office dooor, he dug around and found a bright canary-yellow sweater he put on. It was the farthest thing from his normal all-black outfit he could find. The grey coloring was still in his hair and he had the tinted sunglasses. Although his nose had stopped hurting, it was still flat from being broken. Surgery would repair that, but for now it was a great disguise because it was real. Bane looked himself over. The flat nose and grey hair made him look very different, and the thick sweater added bulk to his gaunt form. He threaded a holster through his belt and put the revolver behind his left hip, under the sweater.
Swiveling the waist-high bookcase on its hidden casters, Bane exposed the pit dug in the concrete under the floor. There was the trunk with his field suit and various tools and equipment. He got his spare Link, checked to see if it was active, and holstered it to his belt like a cell phone. A few other useful gadgets went into his pockets. From a locked strongbox, he took out a thousand dollars in mostly small bills; as long as he was going to be in disguise, he had better not use a debit card or ATM. The Dire wolf replaced the trunk and slid the bookcase back in place. Not for the first time, he wondered what sort of fines he was going to have to pay when he vacated this office for digging a hole in the ground under the floor.
There was only one more thing to do. Sitting at his desk again, he slid the damaged dagger out and examined where it was bent. This bothered him more than almost being killed by an explosion. Those daggers had been a gift from Kenneth Dred, the man he had respected more than any other, and he would have given up everything else he owned before losing them. The silver blades had been ensorcelled by the Eldarin, they were now ensalir and few creatures of the night could defy them. Bane got some tools from his desk and carefully straightened the blade as best he can. He wasn't happy with the results, but he would just not be able to throw the knife for the moment. Replacing it back into its sheath, Bane left the office.
Still well inside the lobby, the Dire Wolf stood and studied the scene outside the double glass doors to the building. Years of training and experience were at work as he looked for anything suspicious. One man across the street worried him, he was standing in a doorway talking on a cellphone but looking right at the building. A minute later, though, he waved for a taxi and rode away. Bane stepped out onto the street and began walking quickly. He was always wary and alert in public in any case but now his eyes moved ceaselessly as he headed across town to 8th Avenue. Once, he caught his reflection in a store window and was surprised at the stranger looking back at him. Stopping at a Subway shop, he devoured a 12" ham and cheese and a big bottle of apple juice before moving on. Calico Sue needed a visit.
IV.
As he walked, Bane realized he was working at a disadvantage. If he wanted to keep his survival a secret, he couldn't call on the network of reporters and informants he had built up over the years. Bleak and the KDF team he could trust, but he didn't want to push his luck. What did he have to go on? Friday night, Bleak had called to him that Calico Sue was back and had been spotted in a Chinatown restaurant; then he, Bane, had gone to that area only to have his car blown up and himself almost blown up with it. It had to be connected. Bane had no other enemies at large at the moment that would have done that. Most of them would have insisted on doing it personally.
Heading south, the Dire Wolf recalled what he knew about Calico Sue. It wasn't much. She headed a family of grifters and con artists that wandered from state to state. They were originally from the South, Georgia if he remembered right. She had a husband, Sweetie, and two daughters, Turnip and Cute Stuff. Their real names were pretty bland as he recalled. Normally, he would not be concerned with their sort of minor crime but the last time they had been in New York, the family had been suspected of causing the death of an insurance salesman who had been caught in their game.
Reaching Mott Street, Bane glanced at the door to his hideout as he passed. It was a plain wooden door with the number 140 on it, wedged between a restaurant and a gift shop. It was supposed to be kept locked but the other tenants often left it unsecured. He walked past it and saw where his car had been destroyed. The wreck was gone and the debris cleaned up, but black streaks still showed. The brick wall of the building next to the spot had some chips out of it, and a window was covered with plywood. Bane stood there for a second. That had been a nice car, a Subaru with only 20,000 miles on it and it was gone now. He wasn't particularly angry at the attempt on his life- people had been trying to kill him as far back as he could remember- but the destruction of the car annoyed him.
Standing there, Bane was aware of a man approaching and he turned slightly. The guy was maybe forty, not tall, with a week's worth of beard and thinning reddish hair. He was wearing a beat-up Army jacket, worn jeans and tan work boots. As he caught Bane's eye, the man said, "Some blast, eh?"
"So I heard. Did you happen to see it?"
"Me? Nah. Just what I read in the papers. I bet it was Ay-rab terrorists."
"Could be," Bane answered absently. He had matched this guy to the descriptions of Calico Sue's husband, Sweetie. There was a gloating gleem in the man's eyes as he studied the burn marks on the sidewalk. The Dire Wolf took a step closer and pointed across the street. As Sweetie's head turned to look, Bane deftly stuck a small metal disc under the lower hem of the man's jacket. The tracer was self-adhesive. Years ago, Bane had hired pick-pockets and stage magicians to teach him their tricks and he still practiced when he could.
"What am I supposed to be looking at, mister?"
"Second floor, that curtain moved. A man with a black beard was watching us," Bane improvised.
Sweetie snorted. "I don't reckon that's the same terrorist, he's long gone from these parts."
"I guess you're right. I just thought it was a funny coincidence." Bane shrugged his shoulders and started to move away. "Well, take care."
"So long, pal," Sweetie said, digging in a pocket for cigarettes.
Stepping across the street, Bane turned right. Once he was out of sight, he took out his Link and adjusted it to register the tracer signal. Yes. There was the bright red dot on a grid and a faint ping. This was too convenient. With any other enemy, he would know it was a trap. But he had not seen the faintest hint of recognition in Sweetie's eyes or body language; the man did not show any signs of acting. For the moment, Bane decided to proceed on the premise that Sweetie had just been relishing the scene of the explosion. Keeping the Link in one hand, he ducked into a used clothing store and snatched up a tan overcoat that fit. Paying cash, he shrugged it on and stepped back out on the street. Sweetie had started walking. Bane followed, keeping two blocks behind; if the man looked back, he wouldn't see that bright yellow sweater.
Bane settled down for an hour of trailing. The tracer had a range of more of ten miles, and if Sweetie kept walking, there was no risk of losing him. Keeping two blocks behind, just close enough that he could spot the man, the Dire Wolf followed. Sweetie seemed to be in no hurry. He stopped at a hole-in-the-wall shop and got two hot dogs and a beer, which he devoured before starting up again. It was a chilly day with a wind blowing but Sweetie took his time. Finally, within a block or two of the Hudson River, he walked up to a three-story apartment building which needed serious repair. Three Hispanic children were playing on the stoop, within sight of a heavyset woman in a doorway. Sweetie said hi to the woman and walked inside.
Staying a block away, the Dire Wolf studied the layout, drawing a map in his mind of the entrances and exits. A few minutes passed, then a light came on in a window on the top floor. Sweetie could be seen for a second, wrestling out of his coat and then someone drew thin curtains shut. Minutes passed. Bane could not spot any watchers around that building. He moved closer and picked up a newspaper from a corner stand for camoflauge. Half an hour, and his stomach rumbled audibly. One of the drawbacks of his enhanced metabolism was that he was always hungry. Bane bought two candy bars from the newstand and ate them as slowly as he could.
At the hour mark, Sweetie came back out with his family in tow. With him was an immensely obsese woman, a teenage girl well on her way to reaching that condition, and another teen girl of average build. They piled into a battered red Dodge truck that was sitting a little too close to a NO PARKING sign and rattled off. Even across the street, Bane could hear them arguing. Well, this was all going way too smoothly. Against any of his established enemies, or even regular gangsters, he would be certain this was a trap. But with these folks, he wasn't sure. Bane folded the newspaper and put it in a trash barrel, then headed across the street. The front door to the apartment building was locked now. Without breaking stride, he drew back his elbow and smacked his open palm just above the door knob, snapping the lock. He was in a small foyer with a door on either side and worn wooden stairs leading up. Moving silently even on the creaky steps, the Dire Wolf trotted up to the third floor landing. Ripe odors came from behind a door marked 3A. on the floor next to the door, under a window facing a brick wall, sat a dead potted plant. This place has that real Manhattan charm, he thought. Bane stood next to the door, lowered his head and slowed his breathing to draw on his Tel Shai training.
After a minute passed and he focussed all his perception on hearing, he was convinced there was no one in that apartment. Even a sleeping person made some noise. Bane took a Trom device from his pocket and inserted it into the lock. Its array of wires reshaped themselves, stiffened and turned to unlock the door. Replacing the gadget, Bane made a mental note to brush up on his lock-picking skills; with a handy device like that, his abilities could get rusty quick. Stepping inside, the Dire Wolf closed the door behind him and surveyed the worst mess he had seen in some time. Clothes were scattered on the floor and furniture, as well empty bags and wrappers of assorted junk food. Soda cans, potato chip bags, candy wrappers.. all were littering the apartment in great variety. Evidently these people never stopped eating and changed their clothes as they walked around.
Checking his Link, Bane saw by the signal that Sweetie was still moving away, heading north. Good. He would keep an eye on that. The Dire Wolf began a quick circle of the apartment. There was this living room, a bedroom and a bathroom, plus a sort of nook under a window. Nothing was in order. The bed was a pile of tangled blankets, the bathroom was a nightmare. Despite his policy not to disturb the scene, Bane flushed the toilet and opened the window a crack. He started searching more thoroughly. In the closet was a Winchester, with two boxes of ammo. He broke the firing mechanism. In a wooden box were two regulation Army grenades and the sight of them brought back all his memories in a rush. Now he could see in his mind's eye what had happened Friday night. A truck speeding by and a man throwing something at him. For the first time, Bane felt anger at the attempt on his life. Kneeling, he took a multitool off his key ring and disarmed the grenades. They were harmless now. Bane stood up and continued searching. Under the bed he found a supermarket bag stuffed with loose money. For one instant, he considered confiscating enough to pay for his car but he decided not to give them any possible charges to use against him.
Looking at the screen of his Link, he noticed the red dot was coming closer. Good. Bane took off the overcoat and shrugged out of the bulky sweater so he would have freedom of movement. Checking his .38 and loosening the silver daggers under his sleeves, he cleared off a plain wooden chair and set it in the doorway. After pulling the door wide open, the Dire Wolf dropped down into the chair. Leaving the Link in his jacket pocket, he set it to RECORD and allowed himself a predatory grin.
V.
Arguing could be heard coming up the stairs. A brassy girl's voice yelled, "You think I'M funny-looking? Honey, you give ugly a bad name!"
"Me? Just cause you're skinny don't mean you're good-looking!"
"How about both of you sleep in the truck tonight so we can have some quiet?" The woman speaking loomed up in the doorway and froze. She filled the space, a huge bulk in a flower print sundress and a maroon hoodie. Her double chin was bigger than her real chin. On top of a cannonball head was a burst of orange hair streaked with white... the obvious source of her name.
"What the HAYLL!" she screamed. "Sweetie, call the po-leece!"
"You always leave your door wide open?" Bane asked quietly.
That stopped her. Calico Sue stepped aside to let Sweetie pass. Next to her, he looked frail. Behind them, the two daughters peered in on either side of their mother. Taking a step into the room, Sweetie frowned and said, "You again! You followed me here?"
Bane did not answer. He rose smoothly to his feet and stood with arms down at his sides. "Save the indignation. Your family is used to being followed by police and detectives."
Suddenly, Sweetie's face turned purple. He snatched in his coat pocket and came up with a Smith & Wesson but against the Dire Wolf, he was hopelessly outmatched. Bane lunged forward like a fencer, wrested the gun away and popped out the cylinder with one hand. "Look at your face," he said mildly. "Get your blood pressure checked."
"Nobody lays a hand on my man!" Calico Sue shrieked, lurching forward with her fingers curled into claws. She stopped in mid-stride. The sharp point of a silver dagger was within an inch of her face. No one had even seen Bane draw it from its sheath. With an audible gulp, she stepped back.
"All right, everyone settle down," the Dire Wolf said calmly, returning his blade to its sheath under his sleeve. "I'm not the police. I'm investigating the explosion that wrecked the car on Mott Street Friday night."
That made them freeze. Finally, Calico Sue said, "I ain't heard nothing about such a thing."
"Please. I was talking to Sweetie about it at the site three hours ago. Nobody was killed but it wasn't because you weren't trying." He tossed the ruined revolver far to one side and, as he did this, Sweetie came in with a wide roundhouse punch. Bane's backfist made a whiplash noise and the man fell to a seated position on the carpet, not unconscious but unable to focus enough to get up.
"Stop the horseplay," the Dire Wolf said. "You! Calico Sue, or Joan Harkins since that's your real name. What was the point of the attack? Who was paying you?"
The woman stood motionless, obviously wrestling with a decision. From behind her, the obese daughter said, "Aw, tell him, Maw. We can't fight a guy like him, he'll cut us up like a deer."
"I guess you got a point, Turnip. I ain't no fool. This is the Dire Wolf his self. All right, mister. Come with us across the hall and meet the person we obey."
Bane nodded and followed her. The other three remained in the apartment. The two girls were helping their father get up into a chair. Out in the hall, Calico Sue went to the door across the landing and unlocked it as Bane watched warily. Suddenly he had a feeling of being in real danger and his awareness was heightened. The huge woman swung the door inward into a lighted apartment. Standing there, not four feet tall but almost as wide, the ugliest child Bane had ever seen grinned wickedly at him.
VI.
It was a little girl not more than seven years old, but as mordidly obese as her mother. The fancy frilly white dress and shiny black shoes were no help in making her more presentable. Under a tangle of dark blonde curls, tiny piglike eyes twinkled in a doughy face. As she saw Bane, the child leered wickedly.
"Princess," said Calico Sue, "I love you dearly but you got to lay off the fried food and go for a walk now and then. You give ugly a bad name."
"Jeremy Bane," the girl answered. "You're supposed to be dead."
"I've heard that before," the Dire Wolf answered. All his attention was on the fat little girl. She should logically be harmless, but he had long ago leared to trust his instincts. "I guess you can explain the situation?"
"If I choose to. You're looking at the next big mastermind of crime. Princess Anita. But I need to build a reputation first and the quickest way I could calculate was to kill someone the underworld knows is mighty tough. That would be you."
For a full thirty seconds, Bane did not speak. Finally, turning to look at Calico Sue, he said, "You have GOT to be kidding!"
"What are you telling her for?!" Princess yelled petulantly. "I'm the new mastermind. I'm the one who threw that grenade at your car. I guess it's true, you do heal faster than a natural man."
The Dire Wolf scowled at the brat. As many weird phenomena as he had encountered in a long career, he was unable to accept this. He forced himself to address Princess rather than the mother. "I think we need to go down to 20th Street and explain this all to our friendly police officers. Why don't you two come with me back to join the others.." He paused as he became aware of a weapon being pointed at him. Decades of Tel Shai training had given him instinct for that. Walking across the hall with the Winchester was the father, Sweetie, with the two daughters right behind him.
Without turning, the Dire Wolf knew that the barrel of that rifle was pointed at the back of his head. The gleeful expressions on the faces of Calico Sue and Princess as they stared behind him only confirmed it. Bane smiled very slightly; people who weren't used to him thought he usually had a deadpan face but it was just that his reactions were subdued.
"So let me get this clear. Calico Sue? After your family tried to kill me Friday night by blowing up my car, right now your husband is behind me with a Winchester aimed at my head?"
"That's right, but I have to say you seem a bit unconcerned. In two seconds, you'll be dead."
Bane shrugged and turned slightly to see the black hole of the barrel within arm's reach.
"Shoot him, Sweetie! What are you waiting for?" the mother yelled. "Blow his head off!"
A hollow click sounded, then another. Bane turned and seized the rifle by the barrel and yanked it away from the small man. "Attempted murder in the first degree for you. Conspiracy to commit the same crime for your wife. The girls are minors and I don't think I can get them tried as adults. But I'll try."
Calico Sue tried to lumber past Bane for the stairs, but he seized her arm at the wrist and elbow, and flung her hard right on top of her two daughters. They went down in a cursing heap of flesh. The woman yelled, "It's your word against all of ours, you fool!"
Touching the Link in his pocket, Bane played back some of their conversation from a few minutes ago. "Crystal clear, eh? All the confession we'll need." As the bizarre family struggled back to their feet, the father grabbed his youngest daughter by a pudgy arm and took one step toward the stairs. He stopped short at a glare from the Dire Wolf and wilted. All of them settled down and trudged back into the apartment to wait.
Taking the Link out again, Bane started to call police headquarters. At a spiteful glare from Princess Anita, he smiled more openly than he had in a long time. "I hope Lt Montez is on duty. He's going to love you guys."
9/30/2013
2/1-2/6/2004
I.
He had been drifting up into consciousness and then sinking back down again for the longest time. Everything hurt. Despite the pain, despite his body wanting to remain unaware, part of his mind never gave up. Each time he regained consciousness, he tried to hold onto it longer without knowing why. He was sitting up. On a floor, with his back against something. Finally, he held on long enough to open one eye, the other one refusing to work. It was a cold dim room. Vague light come from a heavily curtained window to his left. He sank into darkness again. Finally, he stirred enough to look around. Near at hand was a gallon jug of water and he desperately wanted it. It seemed to take hours to make his arm reach for the jug, for his hands to fumble the plastic lid off, but finally he drank. Even in his dazed condition and with a ferocious thirst, he remembered enough to sip slowly until he was satisfied.
The water helped a lot. He must have been very dehydrated. Now Jeremy Bane remembered who he was and where he was. This was his secret hideout, the Chinatown apartment no other person knew about. Slowly getting to his knees, he reached over and grabbed a handful of beef jerky packets and ripped them open, chewing slowly. He was beginning to feel stronger. After a few more minutes, he tried to get up but fell back into a seated position. Finally, he settled for getting up on the beat-up old couch behind him. From there, he could reach the light switch.
The hideout looked the same. Weeks usually went by without his coming here. It was drab and unattractive, just a big room with a toilet and sink in one corner, with a tiny mirror over the sink. Jugs of water and cans of food were stacked along one wall. A radio sat on the floor, and there was a closet crammed with assorted clothing. On one wall was an old-fashioned clock whose hands said one-thirty. He figured it must be one-thirty in the morning by the dim light from the window. Bane was feeling a little better, but his body still ached all over. What had happened to him? He glanced down and saw his clothes were shredded, just strips of cloth hanging off him. The Trom metal armor on his body gleamed like wet silk in the vague light; it had not been pierced but he had obviously taken a lot of punishment. The armor was good but it wasn't perfect and some impact got through it.
Not feeling up to walking just yet, the Dire Wolf sipped more water and snagged a can of fruit cocktail, popping it open and eating the contents with his fingers. He began to take stock. All that was left in what remained of his pockets were the keys and his wallet. Could be worse, they were good item to retain, but his gun was gone and so was the Link and his watch. The two silver daggers were still strapped to his forearms, but one had a bent blade. That annoyed him. Bane finally got to his feet, swayed and stood still for a minute before slowly beginning to walk over to the sink.
His face was a mess, which did not surprise him considering how it felt. One eye was swollen shut. His nose had been broken and blood had dried on mouth and chin. The left side of his face was a purple bruise. Turning on warm water, he grabbed a washcloth and gingerly began cleaning up. Finally, he lowered his whole head into the sink and rinsed his hair to get the sweat out. Drying carefully, he studied the results sourly. It had been a long time since he had taken so much damage.
Now that his head was clearing, he walked slowly over to a round cannister on the pile of food and took out a handful of dried leaves. A mug sat on the shelf of the sink and he ran water in it until it was as hot as it would get, then crumpled the leaves in and stirred it with a finger. The Dire Wolf drained the contents in a gulp and immediately came back to normal. The tagra leaves were only available at Tel Shai. As a Tel Shai knight, he had been on a tagra diet for more than thirty years and his healing powers had been boosted past what medical science would recognize as possible.
He was almost moving at his normal pace. Bane went to check that the door and window were locked, then stripped off the armor and took a sponge bath by the sink. His body had zero fat, all long lean muscle like a runner and it was covered with bruises but now the pain had subsided to a dull ache. The Dire Wolf still could not remember what had happened to leave him in this state. He figured he had better put the Trom armor back on, so only his hands, neck and head were exposed. Discarding his ruined clothes in a corner, Bane went to the closet and dug out a pair of black jeans and a dark blue long-sleeved T-shirt. There was a bag of clean socks and underwear, and two pair of boots. He got dressed almost as quickly as he normally would, with an occasional wince or grunt.
The Dire Wolf went back to the couch to think. He still had no idea what the situation was. There was no phone here, either.
All he could figure was that he had been seriously injured, almost killed, and had managed to make it here. A sudden surge of cold anger rose up inside him at the realization. He finished the water and ate some more, a cold can of beans for protein.
Bane washed his hands and went back to the closet. He had decided not to keep an arsenal here but in the pocket of a black coat was a loaded .38 revolver and a box of shells. Great, there they were. He shrugged the coat on. There was a make-up kit in the closet and he carried it over to the sink to use the mirror. In his long career, he had only used disguises a handful of times but now he thought it was a good idea. Bane applied some pancake make-up to his face, working it in until the bruising was only a faint shadow. The broken nose he couldn't do anything about at the moment. A pair of glasses with a 20% tint helped hide the swollen eye. What else? Reluctantly, he combed a solution into his hair that left numerous gray strands until the natural black was almost gone. That would have to do. Bane frowned at his reflection. Disguises felt like hiding to him, but he had to be realistic thatsometimes they were necessary. Checking his gun again, making sure that daggers on his arms were ready to slid out when needed, he turned off the lights and opened the door a crack. No one was in the hallway.
Bane trotted silently down the worn stairs to the ground floor and stood by the front door for a second. The only other exit would set off an alarm. Finally, he opened it and stepped out into a freezing night and a deserted Mott Street. Great. As far as he could tell, no one had spotted him. Bane turned north and started walking quickly uptown.
II.
By the time he reached 44th Street, the Dire Wolf had warmed up through the exercise. He still was in pain but it was manageable. At an all-night deli, he bought some newspapers and carried them under one arm. Going to 2nd Avenue, he circled warily and slowly. His best efforts could not spot any watchers. Bane decided he had to trust his instincts. Going to the alley next to a four-story yellow brick building, he stepped up to the metal exit door. Now to see if the gadgets installed by Trom Girl still worked. He thumbed a patch on his key fob and a click sounded inside the door, which he swung open and stepped through quickly. The signal only deactivated the alarm for a few seconds. He was standing in a short hallway with a staircase to his left and a plain wooden door to his right. On that door, a brass plate said DIRE WOLF AGENCY. Unlocking it and closing it behind him, Bane stepped through a tiny waiting room into his office.
For the next five minutes, he examined the office suspiciously. There was no sign anyone had been in here. Aside from the Trom security devices he had installed above the door and window, he knew the exact angles of objects and the degree to which his chair had been pushed back when he had left. This was second nature to him after all these years. For the first time since he had regained consciousness, he let out a breath and relaxed. Taking off the glasses and coat, he put the revolver in his left pants pocket and dropped down behind his desk to go through the newspapers.
Here was another jolt. They all said Monday, February 4th. But it was Friday. Friday the 1st. Or at least it had been when he had left this office to go... go where? There was a blank spot. The last he could remember clearly was leaving this office around eleven on Friday night, just as the night watchman was about to lock the front doors. Bane scowled annoyedly. He opened his desk and took out his ledger but there was no record of any job undertaken on Friday. That was no help. Next, he picked up his cordless phone from his charger. He kept office calls seperate from his personal phone. The last call had been received from a number Bane recognized at once. Bleak. That figured. He glanced up at the wall clock behind him and saw it was three-thirty.
Without hesitation, he called the number and a bitter old voice answered at once. "Yeah? Bane, is that you?"
"Yes. Hope I didn't wake you."
"Ah, I don't sleep much. At my age, I keep getting up to pee. Listen, aren't you supposed to be dead?"
"Not that I know of," Bane said dryly. "What do you mean?"
"Your car was blown up Friday night. Down in Chinatown. Quite a blast, pieces flew up and down the street. Three people were injured, one lost a hand from debris. The police identified your car from a license plate and the VIN on the engine block."
"Where was I?"
"There were no witnesses who saw you. It was way below zero, almost no one was out on the street. Nobody's heard from you since. Your pals at 38th Street examined the scene but found nothing, not a trace of a body. They must be worried about you, old man."
"Thanks, I'll call them. I'm okay, Bleak. What did you call me about Friday night?"
"I told you Calico Sue is back in town. She was spotted in a bar down by Battery Park."
"I see. Okay, I'll get back to you. Do me a favor, though? Don't tell anyone you heard from me. I want to keep a low profile for the moment."
"Sure, Jeremy. I owe you that much. You've always done right by me."
Bane hung up. He wondered if maybe the new KDF team had been here after all. With Sable's perception powers, they could search the place without touching anything and she did have a key in case of emergencies. He called the headquarters building on East 38th Street and the voice of Josef Jubilec answered, "Hello?"
"Hi, Josef. I'm okay. Hope you guys weren't worried about me."
The Blind Archer snorted over the phone. "Worried? That's an understatement. We searched the area and pestered the police all night and the next day. Sable spotted a few drops of blood on the sidewalk and she claims she knows it was yours. Her perception must have limits, but she seems able to identify fainter clues than that. Even so, we could not find a trail to follow you. What happened?"
"I'm not sure myself just yet," Bane admitted reluctantly. "But I'll be working on it. Listen, I want you to tell the team I'm alive but keep it hush for the moment. I'll stop by once I resolve whatever mess I'm in."
Josef's voice was stern. "You know we want to help you, captain. You are still our leader, whether you officially stepped down or not."
"Thanks but I try to handle my own problems. You guys carry on and I'll come visit soon. So long."
"Good night, captain, or should I say good morning."
Hanging up, Bane drummed his fingers on the desk. This was a lot to digest. Whatever blast had destroyed his car, it had almost killed him as well. The tagra diet which gave him resiliency and healing factors had been enough that he survived. He must have gotten to his Mott Street hideout on just instinct without being seen while everyone was gathering around the ruined car. Bane still could not remember anything of that night, but he figured he had probably staggered into his hideout, dropped on the floor and passed out for two days.
LUcky to be alive, he thought. He started going through the papers and found a mention of the explosion, but no details that Bleak hadn't already given him. His name was not mentioned, just as well. Bane got up, stretched, and went over to lie down on the long leather couch beneath the window. The pain was almost gone now. Sometimes he wondered if the tagra healing would wear off at some point and his body would just fall apart into a puddle. He certainly had survived enough trauma to kill a dozen people in his career. Bane noticed his left eye was starting to open as the swelling quickly went down, he could see a glimmer through it. Looking up at the white tiled ceiling, he tried to remember what had happened Friday night. Nothing. Without meaning to, he drifted off into a deep natural sleep.
III.
When he woke up, it was after eight. Bane jumped to his feet and stretched experimentally. He felt normal. Going to the little bathroom next to the office door, he examined his face in the mirror. The bruise was a faint discoloration, his eye was open with only a little yellow beneath it. Great. With hot water from the sink, he washed up and toweled dry. He felt ravenous, but that was nothing unusual. The enchanced reflexes which gave him his abnormal speed also burned calories like a furnace. There was no refrigerator in his office, although he really needed to have one brought in. From a desk drawer, he took two cans of Ensure Plus and drained the high protein drinks in single gulps. Why in Hell don't I keep food here, he thought angrily. Picking up the office phone, he called Centre Street and got the extension for Lt Joseph Montez.
Bane explained that he was alive and well. The blast had missed him and he was investigating. He wanted to report that his gun was missing, just in case it had been found and someone used it to try to frame him. Montez said not to worry, forensics had found his pistol, damaged beyond any usefulness. They discussed the situation warily. Montez had been working with Bane for only two years, taking over after the death of Inspector Klein, and had grudgingly recognized how useful the Dire Wolf was in unusual cases. Without quite realizing, he had come to think of Bane as a specialist to be called in unofficially when the weird and the supernatural turned up. It was all off the record and deniable, but like other police detectives before him, Lt Montez had come to terms with having the Dire Wolf in his town.
Finally, Bane promised he would come down and answer all questions within the next few days but he had one request. He wanted Montez to not mention he was alive. Montez accepted this with a few disparaging comments, said he would keep quiet 48 hours and no more, then hung up. Bane almost smiled. Being a loose cannon was his nature. He knew he could trust Bleak and the KDF team to keep quiet, but he was testing Montez a little- if his being alive got out, he would know not to rely on the lieutenant in the future. Now he had to get to work. Going to the closet by the office dooor, he dug around and found a bright canary-yellow sweater he put on. It was the farthest thing from his normal all-black outfit he could find. The grey coloring was still in his hair and he had the tinted sunglasses. Although his nose had stopped hurting, it was still flat from being broken. Surgery would repair that, but for now it was a great disguise because it was real. Bane looked himself over. The flat nose and grey hair made him look very different, and the thick sweater added bulk to his gaunt form. He threaded a holster through his belt and put the revolver behind his left hip, under the sweater.
Swiveling the waist-high bookcase on its hidden casters, Bane exposed the pit dug in the concrete under the floor. There was the trunk with his field suit and various tools and equipment. He got his spare Link, checked to see if it was active, and holstered it to his belt like a cell phone. A few other useful gadgets went into his pockets. From a locked strongbox, he took out a thousand dollars in mostly small bills; as long as he was going to be in disguise, he had better not use a debit card or ATM. The Dire wolf replaced the trunk and slid the bookcase back in place. Not for the first time, he wondered what sort of fines he was going to have to pay when he vacated this office for digging a hole in the ground under the floor.
There was only one more thing to do. Sitting at his desk again, he slid the damaged dagger out and examined where it was bent. This bothered him more than almost being killed by an explosion. Those daggers had been a gift from Kenneth Dred, the man he had respected more than any other, and he would have given up everything else he owned before losing them. The silver blades had been ensorcelled by the Eldarin, they were now ensalir and few creatures of the night could defy them. Bane got some tools from his desk and carefully straightened the blade as best he can. He wasn't happy with the results, but he would just not be able to throw the knife for the moment. Replacing it back into its sheath, Bane left the office.
Still well inside the lobby, the Dire Wolf stood and studied the scene outside the double glass doors to the building. Years of training and experience were at work as he looked for anything suspicious. One man across the street worried him, he was standing in a doorway talking on a cellphone but looking right at the building. A minute later, though, he waved for a taxi and rode away. Bane stepped out onto the street and began walking quickly. He was always wary and alert in public in any case but now his eyes moved ceaselessly as he headed across town to 8th Avenue. Once, he caught his reflection in a store window and was surprised at the stranger looking back at him. Stopping at a Subway shop, he devoured a 12" ham and cheese and a big bottle of apple juice before moving on. Calico Sue needed a visit.
IV.
As he walked, Bane realized he was working at a disadvantage. If he wanted to keep his survival a secret, he couldn't call on the network of reporters and informants he had built up over the years. Bleak and the KDF team he could trust, but he didn't want to push his luck. What did he have to go on? Friday night, Bleak had called to him that Calico Sue was back and had been spotted in a Chinatown restaurant; then he, Bane, had gone to that area only to have his car blown up and himself almost blown up with it. It had to be connected. Bane had no other enemies at large at the moment that would have done that. Most of them would have insisted on doing it personally.
Heading south, the Dire Wolf recalled what he knew about Calico Sue. It wasn't much. She headed a family of grifters and con artists that wandered from state to state. They were originally from the South, Georgia if he remembered right. She had a husband, Sweetie, and two daughters, Turnip and Cute Stuff. Their real names were pretty bland as he recalled. Normally, he would not be concerned with their sort of minor crime but the last time they had been in New York, the family had been suspected of causing the death of an insurance salesman who had been caught in their game.
Reaching Mott Street, Bane glanced at the door to his hideout as he passed. It was a plain wooden door with the number 140 on it, wedged between a restaurant and a gift shop. It was supposed to be kept locked but the other tenants often left it unsecured. He walked past it and saw where his car had been destroyed. The wreck was gone and the debris cleaned up, but black streaks still showed. The brick wall of the building next to the spot had some chips out of it, and a window was covered with plywood. Bane stood there for a second. That had been a nice car, a Subaru with only 20,000 miles on it and it was gone now. He wasn't particularly angry at the attempt on his life- people had been trying to kill him as far back as he could remember- but the destruction of the car annoyed him.
Standing there, Bane was aware of a man approaching and he turned slightly. The guy was maybe forty, not tall, with a week's worth of beard and thinning reddish hair. He was wearing a beat-up Army jacket, worn jeans and tan work boots. As he caught Bane's eye, the man said, "Some blast, eh?"
"So I heard. Did you happen to see it?"
"Me? Nah. Just what I read in the papers. I bet it was Ay-rab terrorists."
"Could be," Bane answered absently. He had matched this guy to the descriptions of Calico Sue's husband, Sweetie. There was a gloating gleem in the man's eyes as he studied the burn marks on the sidewalk. The Dire Wolf took a step closer and pointed across the street. As Sweetie's head turned to look, Bane deftly stuck a small metal disc under the lower hem of the man's jacket. The tracer was self-adhesive. Years ago, Bane had hired pick-pockets and stage magicians to teach him their tricks and he still practiced when he could.
"What am I supposed to be looking at, mister?"
"Second floor, that curtain moved. A man with a black beard was watching us," Bane improvised.
Sweetie snorted. "I don't reckon that's the same terrorist, he's long gone from these parts."
"I guess you're right. I just thought it was a funny coincidence." Bane shrugged his shoulders and started to move away. "Well, take care."
"So long, pal," Sweetie said, digging in a pocket for cigarettes.
Stepping across the street, Bane turned right. Once he was out of sight, he took out his Link and adjusted it to register the tracer signal. Yes. There was the bright red dot on a grid and a faint ping. This was too convenient. With any other enemy, he would know it was a trap. But he had not seen the faintest hint of recognition in Sweetie's eyes or body language; the man did not show any signs of acting. For the moment, Bane decided to proceed on the premise that Sweetie had just been relishing the scene of the explosion. Keeping the Link in one hand, he ducked into a used clothing store and snatched up a tan overcoat that fit. Paying cash, he shrugged it on and stepped back out on the street. Sweetie had started walking. Bane followed, keeping two blocks behind; if the man looked back, he wouldn't see that bright yellow sweater.
Bane settled down for an hour of trailing. The tracer had a range of more of ten miles, and if Sweetie kept walking, there was no risk of losing him. Keeping two blocks behind, just close enough that he could spot the man, the Dire Wolf followed. Sweetie seemed to be in no hurry. He stopped at a hole-in-the-wall shop and got two hot dogs and a beer, which he devoured before starting up again. It was a chilly day with a wind blowing but Sweetie took his time. Finally, within a block or two of the Hudson River, he walked up to a three-story apartment building which needed serious repair. Three Hispanic children were playing on the stoop, within sight of a heavyset woman in a doorway. Sweetie said hi to the woman and walked inside.
Staying a block away, the Dire Wolf studied the layout, drawing a map in his mind of the entrances and exits. A few minutes passed, then a light came on in a window on the top floor. Sweetie could be seen for a second, wrestling out of his coat and then someone drew thin curtains shut. Minutes passed. Bane could not spot any watchers around that building. He moved closer and picked up a newspaper from a corner stand for camoflauge. Half an hour, and his stomach rumbled audibly. One of the drawbacks of his enhanced metabolism was that he was always hungry. Bane bought two candy bars from the newstand and ate them as slowly as he could.
At the hour mark, Sweetie came back out with his family in tow. With him was an immensely obsese woman, a teenage girl well on her way to reaching that condition, and another teen girl of average build. They piled into a battered red Dodge truck that was sitting a little too close to a NO PARKING sign and rattled off. Even across the street, Bane could hear them arguing. Well, this was all going way too smoothly. Against any of his established enemies, or even regular gangsters, he would be certain this was a trap. But with these folks, he wasn't sure. Bane folded the newspaper and put it in a trash barrel, then headed across the street. The front door to the apartment building was locked now. Without breaking stride, he drew back his elbow and smacked his open palm just above the door knob, snapping the lock. He was in a small foyer with a door on either side and worn wooden stairs leading up. Moving silently even on the creaky steps, the Dire Wolf trotted up to the third floor landing. Ripe odors came from behind a door marked 3A. on the floor next to the door, under a window facing a brick wall, sat a dead potted plant. This place has that real Manhattan charm, he thought. Bane stood next to the door, lowered his head and slowed his breathing to draw on his Tel Shai training.
After a minute passed and he focussed all his perception on hearing, he was convinced there was no one in that apartment. Even a sleeping person made some noise. Bane took a Trom device from his pocket and inserted it into the lock. Its array of wires reshaped themselves, stiffened and turned to unlock the door. Replacing the gadget, Bane made a mental note to brush up on his lock-picking skills; with a handy device like that, his abilities could get rusty quick. Stepping inside, the Dire Wolf closed the door behind him and surveyed the worst mess he had seen in some time. Clothes were scattered on the floor and furniture, as well empty bags and wrappers of assorted junk food. Soda cans, potato chip bags, candy wrappers.. all were littering the apartment in great variety. Evidently these people never stopped eating and changed their clothes as they walked around.
Checking his Link, Bane saw by the signal that Sweetie was still moving away, heading north. Good. He would keep an eye on that. The Dire Wolf began a quick circle of the apartment. There was this living room, a bedroom and a bathroom, plus a sort of nook under a window. Nothing was in order. The bed was a pile of tangled blankets, the bathroom was a nightmare. Despite his policy not to disturb the scene, Bane flushed the toilet and opened the window a crack. He started searching more thoroughly. In the closet was a Winchester, with two boxes of ammo. He broke the firing mechanism. In a wooden box were two regulation Army grenades and the sight of them brought back all his memories in a rush. Now he could see in his mind's eye what had happened Friday night. A truck speeding by and a man throwing something at him. For the first time, Bane felt anger at the attempt on his life. Kneeling, he took a multitool off his key ring and disarmed the grenades. They were harmless now. Bane stood up and continued searching. Under the bed he found a supermarket bag stuffed with loose money. For one instant, he considered confiscating enough to pay for his car but he decided not to give them any possible charges to use against him.
Looking at the screen of his Link, he noticed the red dot was coming closer. Good. Bane took off the overcoat and shrugged out of the bulky sweater so he would have freedom of movement. Checking his .38 and loosening the silver daggers under his sleeves, he cleared off a plain wooden chair and set it in the doorway. After pulling the door wide open, the Dire Wolf dropped down into the chair. Leaving the Link in his jacket pocket, he set it to RECORD and allowed himself a predatory grin.
V.
Arguing could be heard coming up the stairs. A brassy girl's voice yelled, "You think I'M funny-looking? Honey, you give ugly a bad name!"
"Me? Just cause you're skinny don't mean you're good-looking!"
"How about both of you sleep in the truck tonight so we can have some quiet?" The woman speaking loomed up in the doorway and froze. She filled the space, a huge bulk in a flower print sundress and a maroon hoodie. Her double chin was bigger than her real chin. On top of a cannonball head was a burst of orange hair streaked with white... the obvious source of her name.
"What the HAYLL!" she screamed. "Sweetie, call the po-leece!"
"You always leave your door wide open?" Bane asked quietly.
That stopped her. Calico Sue stepped aside to let Sweetie pass. Next to her, he looked frail. Behind them, the two daughters peered in on either side of their mother. Taking a step into the room, Sweetie frowned and said, "You again! You followed me here?"
Bane did not answer. He rose smoothly to his feet and stood with arms down at his sides. "Save the indignation. Your family is used to being followed by police and detectives."
Suddenly, Sweetie's face turned purple. He snatched in his coat pocket and came up with a Smith & Wesson but against the Dire Wolf, he was hopelessly outmatched. Bane lunged forward like a fencer, wrested the gun away and popped out the cylinder with one hand. "Look at your face," he said mildly. "Get your blood pressure checked."
"Nobody lays a hand on my man!" Calico Sue shrieked, lurching forward with her fingers curled into claws. She stopped in mid-stride. The sharp point of a silver dagger was within an inch of her face. No one had even seen Bane draw it from its sheath. With an audible gulp, she stepped back.
"All right, everyone settle down," the Dire Wolf said calmly, returning his blade to its sheath under his sleeve. "I'm not the police. I'm investigating the explosion that wrecked the car on Mott Street Friday night."
That made them freeze. Finally, Calico Sue said, "I ain't heard nothing about such a thing."
"Please. I was talking to Sweetie about it at the site three hours ago. Nobody was killed but it wasn't because you weren't trying." He tossed the ruined revolver far to one side and, as he did this, Sweetie came in with a wide roundhouse punch. Bane's backfist made a whiplash noise and the man fell to a seated position on the carpet, not unconscious but unable to focus enough to get up.
"Stop the horseplay," the Dire Wolf said. "You! Calico Sue, or Joan Harkins since that's your real name. What was the point of the attack? Who was paying you?"
The woman stood motionless, obviously wrestling with a decision. From behind her, the obese daughter said, "Aw, tell him, Maw. We can't fight a guy like him, he'll cut us up like a deer."
"I guess you got a point, Turnip. I ain't no fool. This is the Dire Wolf his self. All right, mister. Come with us across the hall and meet the person we obey."
Bane nodded and followed her. The other three remained in the apartment. The two girls were helping their father get up into a chair. Out in the hall, Calico Sue went to the door across the landing and unlocked it as Bane watched warily. Suddenly he had a feeling of being in real danger and his awareness was heightened. The huge woman swung the door inward into a lighted apartment. Standing there, not four feet tall but almost as wide, the ugliest child Bane had ever seen grinned wickedly at him.
VI.
It was a little girl not more than seven years old, but as mordidly obese as her mother. The fancy frilly white dress and shiny black shoes were no help in making her more presentable. Under a tangle of dark blonde curls, tiny piglike eyes twinkled in a doughy face. As she saw Bane, the child leered wickedly.
"Princess," said Calico Sue, "I love you dearly but you got to lay off the fried food and go for a walk now and then. You give ugly a bad name."
"Jeremy Bane," the girl answered. "You're supposed to be dead."
"I've heard that before," the Dire Wolf answered. All his attention was on the fat little girl. She should logically be harmless, but he had long ago leared to trust his instincts. "I guess you can explain the situation?"
"If I choose to. You're looking at the next big mastermind of crime. Princess Anita. But I need to build a reputation first and the quickest way I could calculate was to kill someone the underworld knows is mighty tough. That would be you."
For a full thirty seconds, Bane did not speak. Finally, turning to look at Calico Sue, he said, "You have GOT to be kidding!"
"What are you telling her for?!" Princess yelled petulantly. "I'm the new mastermind. I'm the one who threw that grenade at your car. I guess it's true, you do heal faster than a natural man."
The Dire Wolf scowled at the brat. As many weird phenomena as he had encountered in a long career, he was unable to accept this. He forced himself to address Princess rather than the mother. "I think we need to go down to 20th Street and explain this all to our friendly police officers. Why don't you two come with me back to join the others.." He paused as he became aware of a weapon being pointed at him. Decades of Tel Shai training had given him instinct for that. Walking across the hall with the Winchester was the father, Sweetie, with the two daughters right behind him.
Without turning, the Dire Wolf knew that the barrel of that rifle was pointed at the back of his head. The gleeful expressions on the faces of Calico Sue and Princess as they stared behind him only confirmed it. Bane smiled very slightly; people who weren't used to him thought he usually had a deadpan face but it was just that his reactions were subdued.
"So let me get this clear. Calico Sue? After your family tried to kill me Friday night by blowing up my car, right now your husband is behind me with a Winchester aimed at my head?"
"That's right, but I have to say you seem a bit unconcerned. In two seconds, you'll be dead."
Bane shrugged and turned slightly to see the black hole of the barrel within arm's reach.
"Shoot him, Sweetie! What are you waiting for?" the mother yelled. "Blow his head off!"
A hollow click sounded, then another. Bane turned and seized the rifle by the barrel and yanked it away from the small man. "Attempted murder in the first degree for you. Conspiracy to commit the same crime for your wife. The girls are minors and I don't think I can get them tried as adults. But I'll try."
Calico Sue tried to lumber past Bane for the stairs, but he seized her arm at the wrist and elbow, and flung her hard right on top of her two daughters. They went down in a cursing heap of flesh. The woman yelled, "It's your word against all of ours, you fool!"
Touching the Link in his pocket, Bane played back some of their conversation from a few minutes ago. "Crystal clear, eh? All the confession we'll need." As the bizarre family struggled back to their feet, the father grabbed his youngest daughter by a pudgy arm and took one step toward the stairs. He stopped short at a glare from the Dire Wolf and wilted. All of them settled down and trudged back into the apartment to wait.
Taking the Link out again, Bane started to call police headquarters. At a spiteful glare from Princess Anita, he smiled more openly than he had in a long time. "I hope Lt Montez is on duty. He's going to love you guys."
9/30/2013
