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"Growls From Nowhere"
"Growls From Nowhere"
2/21/2013
I.
Sunlight coming in through the motel window woke him. Jeremy Bane stretched, sighed and jumped out of bed with that restless energy that had burned in his body all his life. Now fifty-six, there were gray hairs scattered on his full head of black hair and faint lines at the corners of his mouth. But he was still trim and athletic, he still moved with quickness and balance. The famous pale grey eyes that had frightened so many enemies were not as cold and angry as they once had been, but they still were alert.
Even semi-retired, even wandering lazily from town to town, he was still the Dire Wolf and he knew that the Midnight War was still never far away from him. Bane went into the bathroom for a quick shower and shave, then began to get dressed.
He no longer wore the silk-thin flexible armor under his clothes all day every day, nor did he carry an arsenal concealed on his person... although most these items were still in his luggage, close at hand. He pulled on black slacks and a long-sleeved black dress shirt (trying to drop his trademark turtleneck after so many years had been more difficult than he had expected). Under the sleeves of his shirt, he strapped a leather sheath onto each forearm, and into them he slid the twin silver-bladed throwing daggers that were the most precious possessions in his life. They had been a gift from his mentor and father-surrogate Kenneth Dred, who himself had used them in his own battles long ago.
He did not call room service. Breakfast could wait until he stopped at some diner. Bane loaded his pockets with the usual keys, wallet, cards that almost anyone might be expected to carry but he paused to look at a slim dark metal device that seemed like a small remote control. The popularity of smartphones amused him greatly, because the technology available to the average person was catching up to what he and his Tel Shai knights had used forty years earlier. The Link in his hand could perform every function a smartphone could (although he never used it for entertainment), but it had many esoteric uses still beyond the capability of Human science. Well, for now, he thought. Who knew what the future held? Some of the advanced gadgets the Trom had supplied to him early in his career now did not seem so futuristic. Shrugging on a black sport jacket, Bane dropped the Link into its side pocket.
He had already packed his knapsack and shoulder bag, and he gave the room a long searching look before leaving. How strange not to feel he needed extra security, that he could rely simply on a locked motel door and window without elaborate traps and alarms to be checked frequently. But then, his major enemies were mostly dead now, and those that remained alive were in other realms from which they would not be returning. The Dire Wolf could relax as much as he was able to. He left the room and walked briskly down the corridor to the front desk, where the young auburn-haired woman gave him an appreciative glance as he approached. Bane was not exactly good-looking, with his narrow feral face and heavy brows over startling pale eyes but he had confidence and self-assurance and people responded to it.
Checking out only took a few seconds. Then he stepped out into a cold February morning, with the clear air biting into his face pleasantly. There was his car. He was currently driving a dark green Subaru Outback, he was fond of the way it handled and it was all he needed when traveling alone. Despite his desire to remain peaceful and even stodgy in his retirement, Bane had asked his team do some modifications on the car, mostly armor panels and improved efficiency and some concealed hiding places. He chirped the doors open, placed his gear in the back and started it up, pulling out onto the road leading up into the Catskills.
He was about two hours north of his apartment on 47th Street in Manhattan, heading further north with nothing definite in mind. The wealth that Dred had left him, and which he had increased during his years in the Midnight War, let him wander at will. He traveled light, not needing much, just driving and thinking. He had been spending more time lately at Tel Shai visiting Cindy too, and each time he was more tempted to stay there permanently.
Bane was still licensed as a PI by the City and State of New York, and he had kept his concealed carry permit, but he seldom took a client these days. His work as a detective had been a useful cover for his real work, not an end in itself.
After half an hour, he pulled in to a roadside eatery for scrambled eggs, hash browns and toast. Cranberry juice and ice water to drink. He ordered a second serving of everything, which got a faint quizzical look from the waitress as he was lean to the point of looking gaunt. But the enhanced speed and reflexes which Bane had been born with carried drawbacks. A ferocious appetite and an inability to sit still were the price for being quicker than normal human fighters. Finishing up, he was back in his car and cruising north again. The miles rolled behind him, the parade of woods and creeks and foothills was all the entertainment he needed for the moment.
He glanced at the sign that read WINCHELL CORNERS 11 MILES and argued with himself about stopping to see Garrison Nebel. His former teammate lived somewhere around here, or did the last he had heard from him. Maybe it would be good to check in on Nebel, catch up on Midnight War gossip and reminisce. Nebel's powers of perception and insight made him a great source of information. If only the guy wasn't so downright creepy... Bane slowed and pulled over to the side of the road. Standing at the end of a path leading out of the woods was Garrison Nebel himself.
II.
"What the hell?" asked Bane, as he jumped out of his car. "This can't be chance, Garrison."
"No, Jeremy, when have we ever been led by chance?" Nebel was several years older than Bane, and looked it. He had a long, furrowed face and hair more white than brown at this point. The mystic wore simple cotton work shirt, jeans and boots, and his sunglasses had opaque lenses. He had been blind, if that was the right word for it, for many years. "I felt you would be passing by."
"Oh, you did?" said Bane, not unkindly. He had come to expect the inexplicable with this man. "I didn't know myself I was heading this way until last night. I was thinking about heading over to Boston and checking out its Chinatown. You didn't call me here somehow, did you?"
Nebel shook his head and gestured back toward the trail. "Indeed not, my captain. I know you do not accept it, but you are drawn to the occult and the unnatural like a wolf scenting prey. Your war name is well chosen, Dire Wolf."
"Right. Well, I guess I can't argue with that. We've known each other too long. You look okay, Garrison, how are you doing?"
"I have not changed much since we last met. The Eyeless Helmet still waits for a new wearer. My time to wield it has passed, but I have not found a worthy successor. It is well that you have come here. There have been events here suited for your abilities. Let us sit on this log, if you will, and I will unfold..."
"Whoa, whoa. Hold it." Bane held up his open palms. "You know, I HAVE been thinking of retiring. I have done enough chasing monsters and psychos for one lifetime. There are younger knights carrying on the fight." And then, without realizing himself what he was doing, he said, "But it wouldn't hurt for you to tell me what's on your mind."
Did Nebel smile ever so slightly? It was difficult to read that solemn face. Turning, the mystic stepped over to a huge log that had fallen parallel to the road during some storm, and he sat down on it without hesitation. In medical terms, Nebel was indeed blind. His eyes had been irreparably burned by gralic force long ago and would never heal, but he had found other ways of perception. Bane glanced over to make sure his car was far enough off the road and then dropped lightly down next to his old teammate.
"You know I can sense gralic energy, captain," Nebel said quietly. "Many people have a trace of such ability, without their ever knowing it, but occasionally I pick up on a person with a greater gift. Someone who might develop strong powers, given the right circumstances or teacher. I have felt such disturbances lately, and in association with crime.
"There have been some burglaries and robberies in this area. Mostly large sums of cash were taken from homes and businesses, but also a High-definition TV, a few laptops, some fishing gear. Twice, someone has nearly caught the thief in the act but were frightened away by some large wild animal. No one has seen this animal, there are no tracks. One person saw an intruder in his neighbor's house, while he himself was outside and as he moved toward the door to enter, a growling of a huge dog alarmed him and he ran away. The home was robbed of a thousand dollars in cash and two credit cards. Soon after, a shopkeeper arriving early caught a glimpse of someone moving around behind his store and, as he moved closer, the shriek of a bobcat came from nearby and he also was alarmed enough to seek shelter in his car until he saw it was safe. No sign of the cat was found." Nebel paused to glance over at Bane. "But, am I wasting your time with this, Jeremy?"
Despite himself, Bane grinned. "Go on."
The blind mystic said, "That is all I know at this point. Bobcats are not unknown here, and there are many dogs. It is just the strange happenstance of a thief escaping twice because of such an animal warning him or protecting him that interests me. I have talked to the people involved. As you know, my perception makes it easy for me to ask questions without being misled or without raising suspicions in those I question. If you like, I can provide you with the names and addresses of these people, should you wish to investigate."
"Hah! Oh, you know me too well, Garrison. This is so tempting. Let me think about it." Bane leaped to his feet and walked a few feet away. "It doesn't sound like any big threat to the people here. Nothing has done any physical harm. I used to get involved if there had been a death or near death, if there was something that needed fighting. But still... this sounds interesting. I think I might look into it. Do you want to come with me?"
Nebel also rose and said, "No, my captain. I was never the warrior you are, and years of peace have not made me any more formidable. Without Sagehelm to wear, my own abilities are also lessened. Best that I stay out of your way and do not hamper you with trying to protect me if there is any danger."
"I suppose. Okay, Garrison. I'll let you know how it turns it. Tell you what, I'll spring for a dinner at the best restaurant up here and we can talk all night about old times. But first, give me what information you have about this mystery big cat and big dog."
III.
Leaving Nebel just before noon, Bane spent an hour driving around and familiarizing himself with the area. Houses were scattered with some distance between them, and Winchell Corners itself consisted of a crossroads with a post office, a gas station convenience mart, and a roadhouse called the Hitchin' Post that featured a promise of live music on Friday nights. Further down the road was a Harley shop, and beyond that the Pines Motel. Bane registered there, brought his gear inside and looked over the room. Not too inviting, clean enough but threadbare and the wooden floor creaked.
He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror over the dresser and was tickled at the excited glint in his eyes. The hunt was on again, he thought. Oh well, probably nothing will come of this. From his pack, he took a gunbelt that holstered behind his left hip (Bane was left-handed) and he checked his Smith & Wesson 38 before loading it. Not so long ago, he had used exotic handcrafted weapons like the airguns that fired potent anesthetic darts, but he hadn't needed such gimmicks for a while. There were still some special weapons and tools in the trunk of his car, but he was reluctant to haul them out. This was probably going to be a dead end anyway.
Suddenly, Bane decided he needed to check himself. Stripping down to his underwear, he stepped into the middle of the room. Stretching a bit, testing his balance, he launched into his Doh Ra form. This had been planned for him by Teacher Chael specifically for his own particular strong points and flaws. Starting off slow, gradually speeding up from a series of poses and stances into a flurry of kicks and combination punches, the form tested him. He wound down, found he was breathing a bit heavier than he would have liked. Bane pressed his hands together and bowed to Teacher Chael, further away than mere miles. He wasn't completely satisfied. Yes, he had stayed in good shape and kept up his training, but he wasn't sure if he still had that intensity, that focus of concentration that had made him dangerous enough to survive the things he challenged.
And too, he thought, he WAS getting old. He looked and felt much younger than his years, but Bane knew the hazard of thinking he would always be what he had been at twenty-one. Even the thought was unsettling to him. He had always seen himself as invincible. Dressing again, he went to his car and drove to the convenience mart for a couple of sandwiches and something to drink, then to begin his investigation. The place looked normal enough, with a Ford pickup and a Harley parked outside, two old men standing by the door talking. Bane got a ham and cheese sub and a bottle of seltzer, went back outside to eat and look around.
As he was finishing, a beat-up dark Chevy Malibu pulled in and a fat man got out to slam the door behind him. All of Bane's instincts kicked into gear. He could smell trouble, not through any weird mystic senses like Nebel had but just through long experience. The man lumbered into the store with body language so truculent, so antagonistic, that Bane almost moved to cut him off before he realized it was no longer his place to butt into everything.
From where he stood by the door, he heard loud voices arguing. Bane threw his wrapper and empty bottle in the basket, rubbed his hands together and stayed where he was.The two old men stopped talking as they heard the angry voices, and they glanced over at him uncomfortably. A few minutes later, the fat man came out, still yelling and cursing heavily. He was a big guy, Bane estimated him at six feet one inch and easily two hundred and eighty pounds, solid and still muscular. Age, late forties. Short brown hair, dark eyes, no visible scars or distinguishing marks, bad teeth. He wore faded jeans, work boots, a white T-shirt under a dark blue hoodie.
In those few seconds, Bane's training had him noting every characteristic that could be significant. He was standing in the open doorway, cursing loudly at the person inside the store, gesturing with one heavy finger. As he swung away, one of the old men stepped closer and raised a hand as if to put it on the angry man's shoulder. "WHy don't you mind your OWN goddam business?" shouted the big man, yanking his fist back behind his own ear and shooting it forward at the old man's face. From a yard away, Bane stepped in and caught the man's fist the way he would catch a softball in his open hand, a loud smacking noise startling everyone. As the big man grunted in surprise, Bane squeezed and felt the bones in the guy's fleshy paw move a little.
"Settle down, you." The Dire Wolf held that fist motionless as the man tried to tug it free. The guy then hauled up his other hand into a wide roundhouse punch at Bane. Long before it could connect, Bane had released the man's fist and blocked the blow downward and to one side with the same hand he had been using to stop the first punch. The big man looked into Bane's calm pale eyes and saw no anger, no fear... just the deadly look a cat gives a mouse. "This ain't over!" he yelled. "It ain't over at all!" He swung around and jumped into his car, started it up.
As Bane turned to the two witnesses, the older man who had been about to get punched in the face said, "Why.. thanks, mister. He was gonna deck me. I never saw anyone stop a punch like you did."
"Once a boxer, always a boxer," Bane replied. "Glad to help. What's his problem?"
"Aw, he got fired from there two days ago and he's taking it bad. Lucky he wasn't fired long ago, you ask me, what with that attitude of his."
"What's his name?" Bane asked.
The old man didn't hesitate to answer, hearing quiet authority in the stranger's voice. "Tommy. Tommy Hardin. He's always had a bad temper."
Bane nodded. "Well, glad no one got hurt. See you around." He had seen which way Hardin had headed, and now Bane slid into his Subaru and headed out, turning in the same direction. It wasn't the near fight which had his pulse speeding up a little, it was the feeling he was onto something. There wasn't much traffic on the country road, and Bane sped up well over the posted speed limit. In ten minutes, he shot past a small white house with a gravel driveway, spotting the rusted Chevy and seeing the front door of the house just close. A wicked gleam came in the Dire Wolf's eyes. He made a quick three-way turn in the road and slid into the driveway next to the man's car. He leaped out as the screen door slammed open and Hardin appeared.
IV.
"What the hell do YOU want? Get off my property this minute!" he shouted. The house needed paint, the yard needed work. It didn't reflect well on Hardin. Bane stepped away from the car and walked steadily toward the big man. There was a faint smile on his face as he reflected on some of the opponents he had faced in his career, and now this fool was trying to scare him away.
"You've got some temper there, Mr Hardin. Enough to get you in more trouble than it already has."
"How do you know my name? What do you want?" Without waiting for an answer, he lunged the last few steps and grabbed out with a meaty paw. Again, Bane blocked down hard with his left hand but then he immediately whipped out a backfist with that same hand that caught Hardin square on the chin. It wasn't hard enough to kill- Bane could easily have dropped the man where he stood, if he had wanted to- but it was enough to hurt. Without warning, a roar sounded immediately behind Bane, the deep unmistakable roar of a bear, and the Dire Wolf dropped into a crouch, spinning around with his pistol appearing in his hand like a conjuring trick.
Nothing. There was nothing there. Even as he saw this, he swung around and caught a hard blow on the side of his head. Distracted by the animal noise, he didn't roll with the punch and it sent him staggering a step back. Before the follow-up could hit, though, he had regained his footing and Hardin walked right into a straight side kick to the chest that threw him on his back as if he had been dropped from the roof of his house. He would not be getting up for a minute or two.
Turning, Bane searched the area but saw nothing. There couldn't have been a bear right behind him. He would have heard its approach, felt its breathing, its body heat. Hardin could not possibly have spotted a bear at close range without giving it away in his face. It had to be a trick of some kind. He holstered his gun and put the backs of his fists at his hips in puzzlement.
A few minutes had passed before Tom Hardin grumbled, sat up and got to his feet, rubbing his chest. Bane had used only part of the impact he might have thrown that kick with if he had wanted to, but to Hardin it had felt like getting hit with a sledge hammer and the breath had been knocked out of him.
Bane said, "Time to settle down and answer some questions. You're the one behind the robberies. Those animal noises happen when you want them, don't they? It's a gift you have."
From directly behind Bane's shoulder, a deep male voice said, "Hold still, mister, I'll blow your head clear off."
"There is no one behind me," Bane said calmly. "No one could have approached in those few seconds. No, you have a gralic power. You don't understand it yourself, huh?"
Hardin grinned. Genuine thunder cracked right overhead, so loud and sudden that Bane jumped in spite of himself in a reflex action. In that second, the big man ran right at him in a flying tackle and Bane quietly stepped to one side, tripping the brute into a stumble. The Dire Wolf's elbow came down hard at the base of the man's neck and Hardin snorted loudly before collapsing. "You don't learn easy, do you?" said Bane.
Stepping away from the dazed man, Bane looked up at the clear winter sky. Of course there were no storm clouds. The thunder had been a construct thrown by Hardin. Did he actually move the air to create these noises? Or, more likely, was it a telepathic effect that he projected into peoples' minds, so realistic that they did not doubt it. Keeping a wary eye on where Hardin lay sprawled in the gravel, Bane walked over and peered into the window of the man's house. A second later,he moved around to the side and looked in a different window. There. The living room had two TVs, a computer, other loot sitting in plain sight. Great, he thought, that is all that would be needed.
Moving back toward Hardin, who showed no inclination to get up, Bane started to call the sheriff's office. He had his license with him, and there was a good chance the local police might remember him from cases he had handled years ago in this area. Then he hesitated with a sour half-smile. Explaining the suspect's literal ventriloquism was going to be tricky.
2/21/2013
2/21/2013
I.
Sunlight coming in through the motel window woke him. Jeremy Bane stretched, sighed and jumped out of bed with that restless energy that had burned in his body all his life. Now fifty-six, there were gray hairs scattered on his full head of black hair and faint lines at the corners of his mouth. But he was still trim and athletic, he still moved with quickness and balance. The famous pale grey eyes that had frightened so many enemies were not as cold and angry as they once had been, but they still were alert.
Even semi-retired, even wandering lazily from town to town, he was still the Dire Wolf and he knew that the Midnight War was still never far away from him. Bane went into the bathroom for a quick shower and shave, then began to get dressed.
He no longer wore the silk-thin flexible armor under his clothes all day every day, nor did he carry an arsenal concealed on his person... although most these items were still in his luggage, close at hand. He pulled on black slacks and a long-sleeved black dress shirt (trying to drop his trademark turtleneck after so many years had been more difficult than he had expected). Under the sleeves of his shirt, he strapped a leather sheath onto each forearm, and into them he slid the twin silver-bladed throwing daggers that were the most precious possessions in his life. They had been a gift from his mentor and father-surrogate Kenneth Dred, who himself had used them in his own battles long ago.
He did not call room service. Breakfast could wait until he stopped at some diner. Bane loaded his pockets with the usual keys, wallet, cards that almost anyone might be expected to carry but he paused to look at a slim dark metal device that seemed like a small remote control. The popularity of smartphones amused him greatly, because the technology available to the average person was catching up to what he and his Tel Shai knights had used forty years earlier. The Link in his hand could perform every function a smartphone could (although he never used it for entertainment), but it had many esoteric uses still beyond the capability of Human science. Well, for now, he thought. Who knew what the future held? Some of the advanced gadgets the Trom had supplied to him early in his career now did not seem so futuristic. Shrugging on a black sport jacket, Bane dropped the Link into its side pocket.
He had already packed his knapsack and shoulder bag, and he gave the room a long searching look before leaving. How strange not to feel he needed extra security, that he could rely simply on a locked motel door and window without elaborate traps and alarms to be checked frequently. But then, his major enemies were mostly dead now, and those that remained alive were in other realms from which they would not be returning. The Dire Wolf could relax as much as he was able to. He left the room and walked briskly down the corridor to the front desk, where the young auburn-haired woman gave him an appreciative glance as he approached. Bane was not exactly good-looking, with his narrow feral face and heavy brows over startling pale eyes but he had confidence and self-assurance and people responded to it.
Checking out only took a few seconds. Then he stepped out into a cold February morning, with the clear air biting into his face pleasantly. There was his car. He was currently driving a dark green Subaru Outback, he was fond of the way it handled and it was all he needed when traveling alone. Despite his desire to remain peaceful and even stodgy in his retirement, Bane had asked his team do some modifications on the car, mostly armor panels and improved efficiency and some concealed hiding places. He chirped the doors open, placed his gear in the back and started it up, pulling out onto the road leading up into the Catskills.
He was about two hours north of his apartment on 47th Street in Manhattan, heading further north with nothing definite in mind. The wealth that Dred had left him, and which he had increased during his years in the Midnight War, let him wander at will. He traveled light, not needing much, just driving and thinking. He had been spending more time lately at Tel Shai visiting Cindy too, and each time he was more tempted to stay there permanently.
Bane was still licensed as a PI by the City and State of New York, and he had kept his concealed carry permit, but he seldom took a client these days. His work as a detective had been a useful cover for his real work, not an end in itself.
After half an hour, he pulled in to a roadside eatery for scrambled eggs, hash browns and toast. Cranberry juice and ice water to drink. He ordered a second serving of everything, which got a faint quizzical look from the waitress as he was lean to the point of looking gaunt. But the enhanced speed and reflexes which Bane had been born with carried drawbacks. A ferocious appetite and an inability to sit still were the price for being quicker than normal human fighters. Finishing up, he was back in his car and cruising north again. The miles rolled behind him, the parade of woods and creeks and foothills was all the entertainment he needed for the moment.
He glanced at the sign that read WINCHELL CORNERS 11 MILES and argued with himself about stopping to see Garrison Nebel. His former teammate lived somewhere around here, or did the last he had heard from him. Maybe it would be good to check in on Nebel, catch up on Midnight War gossip and reminisce. Nebel's powers of perception and insight made him a great source of information. If only the guy wasn't so downright creepy... Bane slowed and pulled over to the side of the road. Standing at the end of a path leading out of the woods was Garrison Nebel himself.
II.
"What the hell?" asked Bane, as he jumped out of his car. "This can't be chance, Garrison."
"No, Jeremy, when have we ever been led by chance?" Nebel was several years older than Bane, and looked it. He had a long, furrowed face and hair more white than brown at this point. The mystic wore simple cotton work shirt, jeans and boots, and his sunglasses had opaque lenses. He had been blind, if that was the right word for it, for many years. "I felt you would be passing by."
"Oh, you did?" said Bane, not unkindly. He had come to expect the inexplicable with this man. "I didn't know myself I was heading this way until last night. I was thinking about heading over to Boston and checking out its Chinatown. You didn't call me here somehow, did you?"
Nebel shook his head and gestured back toward the trail. "Indeed not, my captain. I know you do not accept it, but you are drawn to the occult and the unnatural like a wolf scenting prey. Your war name is well chosen, Dire Wolf."
"Right. Well, I guess I can't argue with that. We've known each other too long. You look okay, Garrison, how are you doing?"
"I have not changed much since we last met. The Eyeless Helmet still waits for a new wearer. My time to wield it has passed, but I have not found a worthy successor. It is well that you have come here. There have been events here suited for your abilities. Let us sit on this log, if you will, and I will unfold..."
"Whoa, whoa. Hold it." Bane held up his open palms. "You know, I HAVE been thinking of retiring. I have done enough chasing monsters and psychos for one lifetime. There are younger knights carrying on the fight." And then, without realizing himself what he was doing, he said, "But it wouldn't hurt for you to tell me what's on your mind."
Did Nebel smile ever so slightly? It was difficult to read that solemn face. Turning, the mystic stepped over to a huge log that had fallen parallel to the road during some storm, and he sat down on it without hesitation. In medical terms, Nebel was indeed blind. His eyes had been irreparably burned by gralic force long ago and would never heal, but he had found other ways of perception. Bane glanced over to make sure his car was far enough off the road and then dropped lightly down next to his old teammate.
"You know I can sense gralic energy, captain," Nebel said quietly. "Many people have a trace of such ability, without their ever knowing it, but occasionally I pick up on a person with a greater gift. Someone who might develop strong powers, given the right circumstances or teacher. I have felt such disturbances lately, and in association with crime.
"There have been some burglaries and robberies in this area. Mostly large sums of cash were taken from homes and businesses, but also a High-definition TV, a few laptops, some fishing gear. Twice, someone has nearly caught the thief in the act but were frightened away by some large wild animal. No one has seen this animal, there are no tracks. One person saw an intruder in his neighbor's house, while he himself was outside and as he moved toward the door to enter, a growling of a huge dog alarmed him and he ran away. The home was robbed of a thousand dollars in cash and two credit cards. Soon after, a shopkeeper arriving early caught a glimpse of someone moving around behind his store and, as he moved closer, the shriek of a bobcat came from nearby and he also was alarmed enough to seek shelter in his car until he saw it was safe. No sign of the cat was found." Nebel paused to glance over at Bane. "But, am I wasting your time with this, Jeremy?"
Despite himself, Bane grinned. "Go on."
The blind mystic said, "That is all I know at this point. Bobcats are not unknown here, and there are many dogs. It is just the strange happenstance of a thief escaping twice because of such an animal warning him or protecting him that interests me. I have talked to the people involved. As you know, my perception makes it easy for me to ask questions without being misled or without raising suspicions in those I question. If you like, I can provide you with the names and addresses of these people, should you wish to investigate."
"Hah! Oh, you know me too well, Garrison. This is so tempting. Let me think about it." Bane leaped to his feet and walked a few feet away. "It doesn't sound like any big threat to the people here. Nothing has done any physical harm. I used to get involved if there had been a death or near death, if there was something that needed fighting. But still... this sounds interesting. I think I might look into it. Do you want to come with me?"
Nebel also rose and said, "No, my captain. I was never the warrior you are, and years of peace have not made me any more formidable. Without Sagehelm to wear, my own abilities are also lessened. Best that I stay out of your way and do not hamper you with trying to protect me if there is any danger."
"I suppose. Okay, Garrison. I'll let you know how it turns it. Tell you what, I'll spring for a dinner at the best restaurant up here and we can talk all night about old times. But first, give me what information you have about this mystery big cat and big dog."
III.
Leaving Nebel just before noon, Bane spent an hour driving around and familiarizing himself with the area. Houses were scattered with some distance between them, and Winchell Corners itself consisted of a crossroads with a post office, a gas station convenience mart, and a roadhouse called the Hitchin' Post that featured a promise of live music on Friday nights. Further down the road was a Harley shop, and beyond that the Pines Motel. Bane registered there, brought his gear inside and looked over the room. Not too inviting, clean enough but threadbare and the wooden floor creaked.
He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror over the dresser and was tickled at the excited glint in his eyes. The hunt was on again, he thought. Oh well, probably nothing will come of this. From his pack, he took a gunbelt that holstered behind his left hip (Bane was left-handed) and he checked his Smith & Wesson 38 before loading it. Not so long ago, he had used exotic handcrafted weapons like the airguns that fired potent anesthetic darts, but he hadn't needed such gimmicks for a while. There were still some special weapons and tools in the trunk of his car, but he was reluctant to haul them out. This was probably going to be a dead end anyway.
Suddenly, Bane decided he needed to check himself. Stripping down to his underwear, he stepped into the middle of the room. Stretching a bit, testing his balance, he launched into his Doh Ra form. This had been planned for him by Teacher Chael specifically for his own particular strong points and flaws. Starting off slow, gradually speeding up from a series of poses and stances into a flurry of kicks and combination punches, the form tested him. He wound down, found he was breathing a bit heavier than he would have liked. Bane pressed his hands together and bowed to Teacher Chael, further away than mere miles. He wasn't completely satisfied. Yes, he had stayed in good shape and kept up his training, but he wasn't sure if he still had that intensity, that focus of concentration that had made him dangerous enough to survive the things he challenged.
And too, he thought, he WAS getting old. He looked and felt much younger than his years, but Bane knew the hazard of thinking he would always be what he had been at twenty-one. Even the thought was unsettling to him. He had always seen himself as invincible. Dressing again, he went to his car and drove to the convenience mart for a couple of sandwiches and something to drink, then to begin his investigation. The place looked normal enough, with a Ford pickup and a Harley parked outside, two old men standing by the door talking. Bane got a ham and cheese sub and a bottle of seltzer, went back outside to eat and look around.
As he was finishing, a beat-up dark Chevy Malibu pulled in and a fat man got out to slam the door behind him. All of Bane's instincts kicked into gear. He could smell trouble, not through any weird mystic senses like Nebel had but just through long experience. The man lumbered into the store with body language so truculent, so antagonistic, that Bane almost moved to cut him off before he realized it was no longer his place to butt into everything.
From where he stood by the door, he heard loud voices arguing. Bane threw his wrapper and empty bottle in the basket, rubbed his hands together and stayed where he was.The two old men stopped talking as they heard the angry voices, and they glanced over at him uncomfortably. A few minutes later, the fat man came out, still yelling and cursing heavily. He was a big guy, Bane estimated him at six feet one inch and easily two hundred and eighty pounds, solid and still muscular. Age, late forties. Short brown hair, dark eyes, no visible scars or distinguishing marks, bad teeth. He wore faded jeans, work boots, a white T-shirt under a dark blue hoodie.
In those few seconds, Bane's training had him noting every characteristic that could be significant. He was standing in the open doorway, cursing loudly at the person inside the store, gesturing with one heavy finger. As he swung away, one of the old men stepped closer and raised a hand as if to put it on the angry man's shoulder. "WHy don't you mind your OWN goddam business?" shouted the big man, yanking his fist back behind his own ear and shooting it forward at the old man's face. From a yard away, Bane stepped in and caught the man's fist the way he would catch a softball in his open hand, a loud smacking noise startling everyone. As the big man grunted in surprise, Bane squeezed and felt the bones in the guy's fleshy paw move a little.
"Settle down, you." The Dire Wolf held that fist motionless as the man tried to tug it free. The guy then hauled up his other hand into a wide roundhouse punch at Bane. Long before it could connect, Bane had released the man's fist and blocked the blow downward and to one side with the same hand he had been using to stop the first punch. The big man looked into Bane's calm pale eyes and saw no anger, no fear... just the deadly look a cat gives a mouse. "This ain't over!" he yelled. "It ain't over at all!" He swung around and jumped into his car, started it up.
As Bane turned to the two witnesses, the older man who had been about to get punched in the face said, "Why.. thanks, mister. He was gonna deck me. I never saw anyone stop a punch like you did."
"Once a boxer, always a boxer," Bane replied. "Glad to help. What's his problem?"
"Aw, he got fired from there two days ago and he's taking it bad. Lucky he wasn't fired long ago, you ask me, what with that attitude of his."
"What's his name?" Bane asked.
The old man didn't hesitate to answer, hearing quiet authority in the stranger's voice. "Tommy. Tommy Hardin. He's always had a bad temper."
Bane nodded. "Well, glad no one got hurt. See you around." He had seen which way Hardin had headed, and now Bane slid into his Subaru and headed out, turning in the same direction. It wasn't the near fight which had his pulse speeding up a little, it was the feeling he was onto something. There wasn't much traffic on the country road, and Bane sped up well over the posted speed limit. In ten minutes, he shot past a small white house with a gravel driveway, spotting the rusted Chevy and seeing the front door of the house just close. A wicked gleam came in the Dire Wolf's eyes. He made a quick three-way turn in the road and slid into the driveway next to the man's car. He leaped out as the screen door slammed open and Hardin appeared.
IV.
"What the hell do YOU want? Get off my property this minute!" he shouted. The house needed paint, the yard needed work. It didn't reflect well on Hardin. Bane stepped away from the car and walked steadily toward the big man. There was a faint smile on his face as he reflected on some of the opponents he had faced in his career, and now this fool was trying to scare him away.
"You've got some temper there, Mr Hardin. Enough to get you in more trouble than it already has."
"How do you know my name? What do you want?" Without waiting for an answer, he lunged the last few steps and grabbed out with a meaty paw. Again, Bane blocked down hard with his left hand but then he immediately whipped out a backfist with that same hand that caught Hardin square on the chin. It wasn't hard enough to kill- Bane could easily have dropped the man where he stood, if he had wanted to- but it was enough to hurt. Without warning, a roar sounded immediately behind Bane, the deep unmistakable roar of a bear, and the Dire Wolf dropped into a crouch, spinning around with his pistol appearing in his hand like a conjuring trick.
Nothing. There was nothing there. Even as he saw this, he swung around and caught a hard blow on the side of his head. Distracted by the animal noise, he didn't roll with the punch and it sent him staggering a step back. Before the follow-up could hit, though, he had regained his footing and Hardin walked right into a straight side kick to the chest that threw him on his back as if he had been dropped from the roof of his house. He would not be getting up for a minute or two.
Turning, Bane searched the area but saw nothing. There couldn't have been a bear right behind him. He would have heard its approach, felt its breathing, its body heat. Hardin could not possibly have spotted a bear at close range without giving it away in his face. It had to be a trick of some kind. He holstered his gun and put the backs of his fists at his hips in puzzlement.
A few minutes had passed before Tom Hardin grumbled, sat up and got to his feet, rubbing his chest. Bane had used only part of the impact he might have thrown that kick with if he had wanted to, but to Hardin it had felt like getting hit with a sledge hammer and the breath had been knocked out of him.
Bane said, "Time to settle down and answer some questions. You're the one behind the robberies. Those animal noises happen when you want them, don't they? It's a gift you have."
From directly behind Bane's shoulder, a deep male voice said, "Hold still, mister, I'll blow your head clear off."
"There is no one behind me," Bane said calmly. "No one could have approached in those few seconds. No, you have a gralic power. You don't understand it yourself, huh?"
Hardin grinned. Genuine thunder cracked right overhead, so loud and sudden that Bane jumped in spite of himself in a reflex action. In that second, the big man ran right at him in a flying tackle and Bane quietly stepped to one side, tripping the brute into a stumble. The Dire Wolf's elbow came down hard at the base of the man's neck and Hardin snorted loudly before collapsing. "You don't learn easy, do you?" said Bane.
Stepping away from the dazed man, Bane looked up at the clear winter sky. Of course there were no storm clouds. The thunder had been a construct thrown by Hardin. Did he actually move the air to create these noises? Or, more likely, was it a telepathic effect that he projected into peoples' minds, so realistic that they did not doubt it. Keeping a wary eye on where Hardin lay sprawled in the gravel, Bane walked over and peered into the window of the man's house. A second later,he moved around to the side and looked in a different window. There. The living room had two TVs, a computer, other loot sitting in plain sight. Great, he thought, that is all that would be needed.
Moving back toward Hardin, who showed no inclination to get up, Bane started to call the sheriff's office. He had his license with him, and there was a good chance the local police might remember him from cases he had handled years ago in this area. Then he hesitated with a sour half-smile. Explaining the suspect's literal ventriloquism was going to be tricky.
2/21/2013