"Mr Never"
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dochermes"Mr Never"
4/30/2004
I.
William W Koskie grumbled to himself as he headed for the elevator. His assistant would be waiting outside with the limo. Just another week before he had to in for that surgery, and the prospect irritated him. It wasn't fear of dying on the table or even the uneasiness of living with a bad valve in his heart that troubled Koskie. It was the deals that would be missed, the money he wouldn't be making. He knew that his team was close to getting control of Swift Processing and once they did that, he could let the staff go and relocate the company to India. Too bad about the American jobs that would be lost, but that was their problem. The elevator door closed and he pressed the lobby button, feeling a painful twinge in his left arm that ran up to his shoulder. That operation would be none too early.
With an abrupt and terrible certainty, Koskie knew he was not alone. There had been no one in the elevator when he had entered, but he felt the presence of someone right behind him, almost breathing down his neck. With a sick sinking feeling, he turned around and saw a man just inches away. Despite himself, he screamed and jumped back. The stranger was bundled up in a trenchcoat and scarf, with a fedora pulled down low. A white cloth mask was fitted snugly over his face, with dark sunglasses covering his eyes.
"Where did you come from? How did you get in here?"
With a low whisper, the stranger answered, "I come and go as I wish, Mr Koskie." With that, he raised a Parabellum in a gloved hand and fired it at pointblank range directly into the CEO's left eye. Blood splattered over the inside of the cage as Koskie dropped straight down, and the stranger stepped over him. He shot twice more, both times into the victim's face and leaving very little of it intact. The elevator door dinged as it was about to open, but before that happened, there was a faint rush of air and the killer was gone as if he had not been there. Two techs on their lunch break stepped into the elevator and tripped over the corpse.
A week later, in Bambino's, a restaurant on Central Avenue in Albany, the Esposito brothers were sitting glumly in a booth at the back. Eating dinner had been a chore this time, and half the veal remained untouched. Joe rubbed his face wearily. "He's not coming, Ray. I told you he wouldn't show up."
Ray did not answer immediately. He stared into his empty coffee cup as if there was a message in it. "Why wouldn't he come? Money talks, Joe, everybody knows that. Even someone as mysterious as Never."
As he said that, a man stood up from the booth behind him. The Esposito family owned this restaurant, they had searched it thoroughly and no one had come in. All that evening, Joe and Ray had been sitting there waiting for their visitor, and now, somehow, he had appeared from nowhere.
Nothing could be seen of Never. Between the hat and the gloves and the cloth mask which covered his entire head, not a bit of skin showed. The nearly opaque sunglasses hid his eyes. As he rose unexpectedly, Joe Esposito gave a twitch and knocked over what was left of his glass of wine. "Whoa! What the hell...?!"
Ray Esposito took a deep breath. "There's no need to do that, Mr Never. We can do business like civilized people."
"One has to be careful," replied the masked man in a barely audible voice. "You saw about our friend in the paper?"
"Yes. Excellent. Well done. Perhaps we can do business again."
"Perhaps," said Never, holding out a gloved hand. Taking the cue, Ray reached inside his suit and took out a white business envelope that bulged. The masked man did not glance at it, he thrust it inside his coat and raised one finger in warning. "I am glad you honor your agreement, sir. If you wish my services again, let the manager here know and I will drop by at some point to ask him. Then we can arrange a meeting."
"Suits me. Listen, Mr Never, we've played fair with you. We are men of honor, our word can be trusted. How about letting us know how you pulled that off? A guy has natural curiosity."
Never shook his head. "Allow me my privacy, sir." He pointed at the front door with a sharp gesture. Joe and Ray both looked up and when they turned back, their visitor was gone. "How does he DO that?" growled Joe, not expecting an answer.
The next sighting of Mr Never was at the Chase National Bank on State Street. When two armed couriers came in with locked canvas satchels of cash, the masked stepped around a corner where no one had seen him second earlier, gun in hand and ready. He shot both guards dead, Knelt to pick up the satchels and was gone from sight. The alarms went off, the doors locked automatically and the bank's own security guard came running up. But the killer was not found.
After that, the masked man seemed to up the stakes. An Army colonel with twenty years in service was found dead in his office in the Pentagon. The hard drive on his computer was missing, and with it, the real names of a dozen undercover agents who had infiltrated Mideastern terrorist groups. The door was locked from the inside and the sentry down the hall by the stairs swore no one had been seen entering or leaving. Rumors started within hours that the hard drive was being auctioned off to enemy nations for the highest bid. And still, no one had a face or a name to attach to this strange criminal. He became known as Never.
II.
Sitting behind his desk in a modest office on 44th Street and Third Avenue in Manhattan, Bane read through the clippings once again. He had called his service to send him anything related to the Never crimes from any newspapers in the world. So far, there had been six crimes definitely identified and two more that were possibles. All had been within the continental United States, ranging from Albany to Washington DC. The Dire Wolf kept shuffling the pieces of paper, thinking there must be a pattern in there that would give him the clue. He stood up quickly and started to pace.
At forty-seven, Bane remained a gaunt man six feet tall, with grey eyes and black hair that showed not one fleck of white. For once, he was not wearing his trademark black turtleneck and sport jacket, but a tan dress shirt with the cuffs rolled up. He was just aching to tackle this Mr Never business. It was exactly his sort of game, but he did not know where to begin.
The doorbell rang and he swung around as if a bee had stung him. His enhanced reflexes made him jumpy and hyper at the best of times. Leaving his office, he entered the tiny waiting room that held only two chairs and a low table with magazines on it. He glared up at the small closed-circuit monitor and saw two people in the hall outside. The way they dressed, their body language, led him to a snap decision. He opened the door and said, "Yes?"
The man was of average height and build, very clean-shaven, with short brown hair and light brown eyes. Next to him was a woman a little taller than he was, a little wide in the hips, with a serious oval face and dark eyes. Both wore professional suits, pressed and neat, shoes polished. The man asked, "Are you Jeremy Bane?"
"Could be. Who's asking?"
"FBI. Special agents Celeste Mooney and Hall Debitz," said the woman. They both held up their billfolds with the ID cards and Bane examined them, not just giving them a quick glance but comparing them to the photos and checking details.
"I'm Bane. What brings you here?"
"May we come inside?" asked Debitz. He had a faint New England tartness to his voice. "We would like to discuss a proposition with you."
"All right." Bane stood aside and ushered them in, closing the door. He gestured them to take seats in the plain wooden chairs and circled around behind his desk. As he did so, he noticed them glimpsing the clippings on the desk with interest.
"I haven't had visitors from the Bureau in a while," the Dire Wolf said. Unhurriedly, he collected the clippings into their manila folder and put them to one side. His desk was uncluttered, with just a reading lamp and a cordless phone sitting in a charger. Two IN and OUT trays sat to one side, and he placed the folder there.
"Mr Bane, first I want to say I have wanted to meet you for some time," Hall Debitz began. "My area of interest is inexplicable crimes, mysteries with a touch of the bizarre, even the supernatural. So naturally, I know about the Dire Wolf. You have had a remarkable career. Maybe the general public doesn't know you. Perhaps even most law enforcement officials don't. But those of us who follow the darker, stranger side of the world, you are well known. You captured Samhain and Seth Petrov. You fought Seneca. I have heard you tangled with Wu Lung and the likes of Arem Kamende. Very impressive."
"Thanks for all the compliments," Bane said. "Are you part of Department 21 Black?"
"21 Black? No. They are more concerned with just cleaning up and closing files. My partner and I are mostly assigned to the same sort of activities you have been dealing with."
Celeste Mooney broke in, giving Debitz a stern glance. "The official policy of the Federal Bureau of Investigation does not concern itself with, nor does it admit the existence of, the occult. The Unknown is not our business. And yet, from time to time, events occurs which seem at first to have no rational explanation." She took a breath, raising and lowering a serious bustline beneath the severe white blouse. "So we deal with them as such until they can be explained."
"Sounds reasonable. I saw you notice those clippings. Yes, I am gathering information on this Mr Never, also known as the Disappearing Man and The Man Who Wasn't There. Just by chance, is that which brings you here?"
"It is," Mooney answered. "Mr Bane, you are not cleared for Top Secret information. I know you have been trusted by the agency in the past with classified data that you really should never have learned. This information stayed with you. If it were to leak somehow, you would be investigated yourself and prosecuted for much of the lawbreaking you have done in the past. Does that make sense?"
"Come on, let's get going," the Dire Wolf said. "I know all this. I'm a loose cannon that sometimes is useful to the FBI and other government agencies, not to mention the NYPD. But's all off the record. Never happened. Denied completely. Tell me about the Mr Never business."
With a relieved expression, Hall Debitz launched into a summary of Never crimes. There had been more of them than the media had found about, and they had been increasingly serious. The man was becoming a real threat not to law and order but to national security. In addition to the hard drive with the names of undercover agents, Never had stolen plans needed to construct a nuclear device and this had been kept secret from the public.
More than an hour went by as Debitz and Mooney explained in detail everything that was known. Finally, they wound down and watched the Dire Wolf expectantly.
"Here's my opinion," he said. "Unofficial and off the record and all that. This man has a gralic power. There is no sense in trying to figure out how he appears and vanishes by looking for trap doors or mirrors or anything like that. It's not something Human science can explain. There are a few different ways he could be doing this, using gralic force, but I can't tell until I see him in action. I'll start investigating tonight. You have my number, let me know of any new sightings."
"Well. We know you typically work alone," Mooney said with a tinge of disdain in her voice. "Normally, policy would make us request that we go with you, but.. considering your success rate, I think we should allow you a free hand."
"Much to my regret," put in Debitz. "I have wanted to see you in action half my life."
Bane got to his feet and moved around the desk, giving them the hint. Both agents rose and followed him through the waiting room to the door to the hall. "I will inform you as soon as I get anywhere," Bane said.
"This meeting never took place, of course. Debitz and I are now eating a disappointing dinner at the Castaways restaurant before driving back to DC after interviewing witnessess." An unexpected smile lit her face, making her look much younger. "How appropriate. A meeting that never happened, dealing with the man who was never there."
As they left and the door clicked shut, Bane lifted both fists and almost brought them up face high in exultation. Yes! the hunt was on again!
III.
He hit the Thruway in his Toyota Matrix, with the knapsack and shoulder bag he always kept stocked and ready to grab. It was just two in the afternoon. Bane stopped in Poughkeepsie to gas up the car and grab a roast beef sub, then was on the road again. He had been in the Albany area only a year or so earlier on the Three Widows case and he knew his way around well enough. By five, he was pulling off the Thruway and turning up Central Avenue. It took twenty minutes, going to the edge of the city, before he located the two-story house belonging to Ray Esposito.
Bane dropped in unannounced, his reputation giving him a certain edge. Organized crime had long ago decided to leave him alone as long as he returned the favor; the criminals Bane had killed or captured were loners outside the families. Most of the time, professional criminals disliked wild cards like Midnight War maniacs because they stirred the police into action. Still, being the man who had captured the likes of Samhain or Seth Petrov made Bane seem enough of a threat to be taken seriously. He met in private with Esposito and got him to agree to call Mr Never for a meeting. Esposito was not happy dealing with the man in the first place, regarding as some sort of strega or witch who should not be suffered to live.
Getting back in his car, the Dire Wolf found a Holiday Inn and rented a room for a few days. He ordered a fish and chips meal, took a quick shower before it came and dressed again in fresh clothes from his bag. After eating, Bane realized he was in for what he hated most in the world, waiting. He never watched TV. It just didn't register for him. Going to the lobby, he bought a copy of every newspaper they had and sat cross-legged on the floor with them spread out in front of them. The second time through, he was disappointed there was no sign of the Midnight War going on in the Capitol Region. If the Never case didn't pan out, he had hoped to find something else weird and dangerous to tackle.
That night and the following day were misery for him. Sitting still took all his will power but he wanted to be ready if Esposito called. He did his Doh Ra form twice, swam furiously in the pool for an hour and even tried playing the video game machines. He missed Cindy more than ever and he went to see her at Tel Shai more often. Maybe it was getting time for him to think about retiring and go stay at Tel Shai himself.
By nightfall, he was going stir crazy. Bane had his phone with him, so he stepped outside the motel, picked the direction out of the city and started to jog. He was a frightening sight at a full run. he moved so quickly it looked unreal, as if it were a trick of some kind. Four miles out, he spun around and hurtled back toward the motel. He never timed himself, seeing no point in it, but he did wonder if he was any slower now than he had been as a young man. Back in his room, he sat down on the bed, breathing faster but not at all winded, and feeling much better. When his phone rang, he snatched it from his pocket. Esposito had heard from Never. The assassin would be there the next night at closing time.
The following day was a struggle for him to get through. In desperation, he made a series of phone calls, checking in on various colleagues and allies he had not seen in a while. This turned out to be for the best, as he caught up on a lot of Midnight War gossip and heard about some odd goings-on in Maine he might want to look into. At four in the afternoon, he did his DohRa form to get stretched and warmed up. As far as he could tell, there was no stiffness, no weak areas that might fail. Taking a shower and shaving, he got the Trom-metal armor from his knapsack and pulled it on. Although it looked and felt like dark silk with a sheen to it, the material was better than most heavy body armor; this suit covered his torso and his upper arms and legs.
As always, he wore the silver-bladed daggers which Kenneth Dred had given him, strapped to his forearms with the hilts toward his wrists, Black pants,a black turtleneck and boots completed his outfit. A holster threaded through his belt held an air pistol behind his left hip. This fired the potent anesthestic dart, based on the formula first devised by the Sting eighty years earlier.
As he put on his black sport jacket and loaded its pockets with the various gimmicks and tools he used, Bane felt his spirits lift. Finally, getting in motion! He looked around the motel room and was satisfied he had everything he needed. Going out through a hallway door into the parking lot, he climbed into his Toyota and started back toward the Bambino's Restaurant on Lark Street. It was getting past five when he found a parking spot a block away, circled around and entered the restaurant through the back service door, where an employee was expecting him. Bane moved through the kitchen and got into the tiny closet full of supplies, crates and boxes and bags of dry food. From here, he could reach the swinging door to the dining area and the two booths where the Espositos would be waiting.
The next few hours were torture again, as he had to be quiet and to ignore the occasional cook reaching in to get some supplies. It felt more like a few days than a few hours, but finally he heard the familiar voices of the two brothers arguing. THey were in the booth right outside the swinging door. Bane held as still as he could. Ray seemed to think they were putting their own heads on the chopping block by doing this, but Joe held firm that this was the best way. The cooks cleaned up and left.And, right after nine, a third voice suddenly joined them. Stealing out of the supply closet, Bane listened intently. Ray said they had another assignment available if Mr Never cared to accept it. Slowly, making no more noise than his own shadow, the Dire Wolf stepped over and peered at chest height through the crack in between the swinging doors.
THe Esposito boys were debating something with a man of average height, rather stocky, completely bundled up so nothing could be seen. He waved one hand in a dismissive gesture at whatever they were saying, the other hand in his trench coat pocket. None of them were looking in his direction. Bane straightened up, pulled a door inward toward himself and stepped through. The faintest flicker showed in Ray Esposito's face as he caught the movement from the corner of his eye.
In a flash, the masked man whirled and his hand came up with the Parabellum in it, firing twice. Both bullets caught Bane in the center of the chest with savage impact, he fell backwards through the swinging door. Instantly, he had rolled over and surged up again and a third shot knocked the wind out of him. Before he could get up again, the muzzle of the gun was an inch from his forehead. He froze and watched for an opportunity.
"The police?" came a hoarse whisper. "Ah, I see. Lucky for you I do not kill for free, my friend. I am surprised you are still alive, though." Without taking his eyes off Bane, Never said to the Espositos, "So much for your talk of honor. Death will come for you, slyly, silently in the night. We will meet again." And with that, he was gone.
Rubbing his chest and taking deep slow breaths, Bane straightened up. That had not gone well. If the killer had aimed for his head, it would have been all over. He did not hear what Ray and Joe Esposito were saying, but then they were largely yelling at each other. With stiff movements that became more normal by the time he reached the front door, he went out on the street. Even with the armor, getting shot like that was not fun. There would be some major bruising by late that night. Out on the street, the Dire Wolf headed around the corner to where his car was parked. As he approached, the Link in his pocket beeped and he pulled it up. The screen read GARRISON NEBEL. Bane said, "Yeah?"
"You are ready for information," came the calm voice of the blind mystic. It was not a question.
"How did you- oh, right. It's who you are. You have been following the case?"
"Slightly. I am involved with my own explorations. Fanedral has been watching this world lately. But I understand the basic problem you face. Just now, you had vibrations of sudden physical pain and disappointment."
Bane scowled at the Link as if considering whether to throw it away or not. "Yeah. I met the suspect. He took a few shots at me and got away."
"Jeremy, listen," Nebel said over the phone. "When he vanished, was there any light or sound given off?"
"No."
"Did you feel the air move or hear a faint rushing noise?"
"I don't know! I had just taken three bullets to the chest!"
"It was not a god-gate then," Nebel said. "Nor was it an Eldar travel crystal. Few are the Humans who can teleport by themselves. I think, Jeremy, you are dealing with a projection."
Leaning against his car, Bane touched his aching chest tentatively. "A projection? What, an out of body sort of thing?"
"Yes. But this person can materialize his projection. It is not truly physical as a flesh and blood being is, but the gralic energy is dense enough to hold an object or to move air enough to speak. When the host relaxes his sending, the apparition returns instantly to where the projector lies in a trance."
"What about the gun? Those bullets were not illusion, Gary."
"The apparition is able to hold some physical objects. Not more than what the real person could carry. I believe it takes a loaded gun with it when it leaves the host, just as it can return with a stolen object."
"Let me think," Bane said. "You know more about these things than I do, Garrison. Let me ask you, how can I fight an energy being that disappears in the wink of an eye?"
"You must find the host," said Nebel and hung up.
III.
After a few more minutes, the aching in his chest eased up. Leonard Slade had explained that the Trom-metal armor dispersed impact at any point to be spread over its entire surace. If Bane had been braced and ready for the shots, he could have stayed on his feet and grabbed Mr Never but he had been in mid-step when the bullets hit. The Dire Wolf fingered three holes in the shirt, through which the metal armor could be felt. Mr Never was a good shot, he had to give him credit. Going back to the Bambino Restaurant, Bane had a brief argument with the Esposito brothers and he reminded them that they could only knew Mr Never because they had hired him for some illegal reason, probably murder. So it was hard to feel sympathy for them now that they had lost his trust.
Bane went back to his car and headed to the motel where he was staying. Garrison Nebel still troubled him. It wasn't just that Nebel had sensed Bane's sudden physical pain, Bane had long ago accepted that the blind mystic was creepy in that sense. It was that he always gave clues and hints instead of just coming out with it. Bane pulled into the parking lot of the Holiday Inn and marched through the lobby, past two loud couples babbling about the concert they had tickets for, and down the long hallway flanked with doors on either side. He suddenly felt apprehensive as he slid his electronic ticket into the metal box to unlock the door. What were the limits on Mr Never? Was it possible he was in the motel room now, waiting? Was this a trap? With his left hand, he reached behind and pulled out his airgun, thumbed its safety off. Bane set himself, clicked the door open and dove through in a tight somersault to come up on one knee, gun swinging to cover the entire room. Nothing. He whirled to get to his feet and checked the bathroom. It was empty. Letting out a breath, the Dire Wolf holstered his gun and went to close and lock the door.
He did not feel embarassed over the acrobatics. Twice,he had done that and come up in a room with gunmen waiting for him. The sudden entrance and low tumble confused shooters for the split-second necessary that he could get the advantage. Bane unlocked his canvas shoulder bag and took his laptop from it. He had brought the charger and now he plugged it in and flipped the lid up. Nebel had said he thought this Mr Never was a "projection," gralic energy dense enough to seem solid and controlled at a distance by its creator.
The Dire Wolf paused for a minute. He had encountered similar phenomena himself in his career. There had been the Red Spectre, a crackling silhouette of energy sent out by a bitter woman to kill her rivals. And there had been William Murdock. He was working for Kenneth Dred already when Bane had been hired and first entered the Midnight War. Will had been able to send out his awareness to search and observe, while his body went into a comatose state. Poor Will. He had been dead so long now.
The next hour was spent searching the Internet. Most of what was online about psychic phenomena had no value, but he had learned the few websites which really knew about the Midnight War. He himself was discussed on a few of them. First, he found out of a few things about the rare skill of gralic projection, also known as bi-location. It was not astral travel. The important aspect was that the sender could concentrate the gralir into a semblance of himself. This projection was focussed enough to look and sound real. It could pick up small objects, open a door, even drive a car in some cases. It could not be harmed by most means. If the projection was struck hard enough, it would just dissipate and have to be reformed. Some said this would kill the sender, but there were cases where the sender was not harmed by anything done to the projection. There was a limitation few knew about. The sender had to be familiar with the location he sent the apparition to. It was not enough to see photos, the sender had to have been there in person so his subconscious was familiar with the site.
After an hour, Bane had to get up and walk around. He was faster than any true Human, but this had its price and a restless nature was one of them. He paced, looked out the window at the night, then went back to work. He assembled a list of experts on gralic projection. The Dire Wolf scowled as if trying to frighten the laptop into working faster. These were some boring people. One had also written a fiction series, VAMPIRES I HAVE LOVED. Then, one of the experts abruptly seemed more intriguing.
Dr Timothy Estroff, author of more than a dozen books on the paranormal. Two of them were about gralic projection. Bane could not find a picture of the man online, which annoyed him. He sat up when he saw that Estroff had done a series of articles on US military experiments with ESP, which included many interviews with generals. So. That one Army officer who had been killed... Bane checked and found that, yes, he had been one of the men interviewed for the articles. So there was a chance Estroff had been to the man's house. The blurb for one of his books said, "Dr Estroff lives in a charming old house outside of Schenectady with his daughter Andrea and two Golden Lab retrievers. He says all three are the best companions anyone could ask."
Once again, Bane got up and walked around, hands clasped behind his back. Most of the Mr Never crimes had taken place in the Capital District, that is Albany-Schenectady-Troy, natural enough if that was the area Estroff was most familiar with. He stopped and made himself get back on the bed and back to the computer. He could not find the exact address for Estroff. Maybe someone more skilled could dig it up, but he came up blank. The Wolf thought about possibly calling those two FBI agents, certainly they could get the information in a blink. But then they would go investigate Estroff or send other agents. No, he wanted to do this himself. He kept trying and eventually hit on something. The local paper, THE ALBANY TIMES-UNION, was archived online and in one issue was a letter from "Dr Timothy Estroff, 34 Fox Lane, Schenectady NY." Perfect. The letter was a furious sermon about the rudeness of young people playing rap music too loud, and Bane mentally thanked those young people for annoying Estroff.
Pulling up a map, he found Fox Lane on the outskirts of the city and spent a few minutes fixing its location in his mind. Before he left, Bane went into the bathroom, where he stripped and checked out where he had been hit by Never's slugs. Those were some impressive bruises, but he could move normally. Dressing again with a fresh shirt that did not have bullet holes, he checked his gear and headed out. In the Toyota again, he started driving and thinking. It was almost one o'clock in the morning when he found Fox Lane. This was a narrow country road away from the lights of town, with houses spread widely apart and long stretches of wooded areas. As he went around a curve, he passed a house up on a hill that seemed to have every light on. He pulled off the road under an elm tree and turned the car off. From where he sat, he could see the illumination of the house but no noise.
Dressed all in black, Bane would be hard to spot in the darkness. His Kumundu training had included stealth and his old partner Shiro Mitsuru had given him many tips and pointers. He was in no hurry. Slowly, the Dire Wolf stalked through the trees and bushes, up the hill toward the back of his house. Studying the layout, he thought where he would have placed a sentry and crept up on that spot. Sure enough, a big guy in a white windbreaker was leaning against a tree, hands in his pockets. Bane listened a few more minutes, heard nothing, and decided this man was alone. Not very professional.
The Wolf painstakingly drew the airpistol with its needle-thin barrel, aimed at the guy's neck and fired. There was a barely audible cough of expelled CO2, then the surprised grunt as the sentry felt the sharp sting. He slapped up at his neck, probably thinking it was some insect and was just touching the dart when he passed out. Bane had rushed up and caught him, lowering him to the ground.
Retrieving the dart, the Dire Wolf stuck it in a pocket of his jacket for later reuse. He loved those things for work like this. They had drawbacks. In cold weather, when people wore thicker layers of clothing, the darts could not be relied on as much and they did not have the range of a bullet. He moved forward again, toward the back of the house. It was a big three story place, with an attached garage and a satellite dish on the roof. Almost every window showed a light. Bane circled the house very slowly. Five cars and an SUV were parked along the driveway, and he spotted two men standing by the SUV, with the red dot of a cigarette moving at face level. This was getting better and better.
Back to the rear of the house, where no one seemed to be stationed. A small patio held some light lawn furniture and a round table. Bane hopped on to the patio and stood flattened up against the wall, listening and watching. These people did not seem to be good at setting up security. He opened the screen door, found the wooden door beyond was unlocked and passed through. He went through the kitchen and into a hallway. To his left were stairs going up, to his right a door leading down to the cellar. Still no guards. Ahead, he heard voices. Moving slowly, ready at any second for an explosion of violence if he was spotted. He positioned himself in the shadow of the stairs and got so he could get a glimpse of the living room without being seen himself. Mr Never was holding court.
IV.
In that room, eight thugs stood in a group, facing two other men who sat in fancy wicker chairs backed up against a wall. One of these was Mr Never, still concealed in white cloth mask, trenchcoat and hat. He was sitting with hands on the arms of his chair, relaxed and confident. In the chair next to him was a middle-aged man with a round face and white goatee, wearing black horn-rimmed glasses. His belt was pulled up to nearly his chest, evidently he had been putting on weight and not buying a new wardrobe. This man held out a small manila envelope and one of the thugs stepped forward to take it. Money, no doubt.
Looking over the group, Bane was not impressed at all. These were not top notch crooks in any field. Most were white, there were two black men in the group and one Latino. It looked like a burglar or two, a pickpocket, a pair of obvious drug dealers. The biggest one was a real bruiser, with a flattened nose and sunken sullen eyes. Most were peeking into those manila envelopes and then putting them away.
"This week has gone well," Mr Never asked, raising a hand with palm up. "And we have just begun. You men are only the beginning. You are the first to follow me, but I will build an army. An empire of crime! With my powers, I cannot be captured or held... and that means none of you will ever go to jail, because I can appear and take you away." The masked men held his open hands to take them in. "Each of you will command your separate gang. My next move will be the most daring and audacious crime in history. The world will tremble in fear, wondering where we will strike next!"
One of the crooks, wearing a black leather jacket with the sleeves ripped off to show muscular tattooed arms, actually said, "Let's hear it for Mr Never. Our new king, Mr Never!" They all cheered while Bane smirked from the shadows.
The best dressed man there, wearing a neat suit with perhaps too flashy an assortment of jewelry, spoke up. "I think we all agree this is a sweet deal. Now, how about our next assignment, Mr Estroff?"
Hearing that, Bane drew back further and frowned. Estroff? What was he doing there? How could he be there and functional if he was projecting Mr Never? This made no sense. The Wolf continued to eavesdrop and sure enough, one of the crooks said, "I got it, thanks Mr Estroff." Bane stole another glance, then withdrew. He had pushed his luck as far as he could before the fighting would have to start. That WAS the same Mr Never who had shot him. The size, the build, even the details of the trenchcoat were identical. Yet he was sitting and talking while Dr Estroff was also active.
Swinging around, Bane scuttled silently up the stairs. On the landing were three doors. The one in the middle was open and showed a bathroom. There was a door at each end of the landing, with light showing beneath the one to his right. Bane crept up on it, listened and drew his dart gun. This was a big gamble but he had to go with his instincts. He opened the door and plunged inside, taking the scene in an instant. A big man in a dark suit was standing with his back turned, swivelling around at the slight noise. The gun in his hand raised as the heavy metal dart jabbed into his neck, right next to his windpipe. The man made a pained noise at the stinging impact, dropped the gun with a clatter to the floor and slumped. Bane moved in to catch him. As he lowered the sleeping crook to the wooden floor, the Dire Wolf looked around.
On a double bed with a headboard, under a pink spotlight aimed at her face, a woman in her late thirties lay, fully dressed and apparently in a deep slumber. She was not good looking, bearing a dumpy resemblance to Dr Estroff, and Bane thought of course this is the daughter, what was her name? Andrea. In that second, everything clicked into place. Holstering the dart gun, he stepped over closer to the bed and slid one of the silver daggers from its sheath. He gently pressed it so the point just barely made contact with her throat.
He was barely in time. Not coming down the hall or through the doorway, but simply appearing, Mr Never stood ten feet away. He had his Parabellum in hand but froze motionless as he understood the situation.
"You heard the gun hit the floor, eh?" Bane said. "And you told your goons to remain downstairs. Don't move. Lower the gun. That's right."
"Who are you? What do you want?" hissed the masked man, taking one step closer.
"Oh, that hurts my feelings that you don't recognize me. I'm a freelance vigilante, I guess you would say. An avenger for all the people you two have murdered." Bane slipped his other arm under the comatose Andrea Estroff and raised her to a sitting position on the bed. Her head drooped to one side. "See, to the best of my knowledge, you guys have killed eight people. And you yourself said it's just the beginning. Who is going to stop you? What court could handle your case? What jury would believe any of it?"
Never raised the gun again and chuckled. "You fool! In the room below us are eight armed men. More are outside. You are not going anywhere. Lower that woman."
"Not going to happen. My mistake was thinking it was your father who was Mr Never. But, just because he knows about gralic projection doesn't mean he's any good at it. You're the one with the talent.. aren't you, Andrea?"
Never saw an opening and fired, thinking to aim past the unconscious woman and hit Bane in the head. It was only a ten foot shot. But the Dire Wolf had been trained, he read the body language and knew within a tiny fraction of a second when the apparition would shoot. Even as that unreal gloved finger tightened on the trigger, Bane yanked Andrea Estroff up to take the impact. Two slugs thumped home right in the heart. As she sagged into death, the bundled figure of Mr Never blinked out of existence and his gun fell to the hardwood floor. Bane let the dead woman fall onto the bed. He flashed to close and lock the door, then got to the window in two long strides. It was already open a crack. He yanked it up, climbed through and swung around to hang by his fingertips from the sill. He glimpsed bushes below and dropped, landing on them and rolling off. From upstairs, he could hear yelling. Let those goons figure out what had happened. One thing was sure, they had seen the last of Mr Never.
Racing through the yard, Bane saw a guard suddenly loom up in front of him, starting to yell. The Dire Wolf got in close and doubled the man up with a punch that sank wrist deep into a doughy stomach, then sent him to the ground with a straight blow from the other hand. Once, he would have stayed to shoot it out with the entire gang but now he felt they were not important. Without Never as a mastermind, they just dime a dozen lowlife.
There was his car. He beeped to unlock the door and activate the remote starter, hopping in and took off into the night. Next, he would have to go back to Albany to retrieve his gear. By that time, it would be almost dawn. He decided he would get a few hours sleep before calling those FBI special agents and giving them an unofficial off the record deniable report. Then it dawned on him for the first time. That hadn't been murder back there, since Mr Never was a projection. Andrea Estroff had shot herself.
3/20/2013
4/30/2004
I.
William W Koskie grumbled to himself as he headed for the elevator. His assistant would be waiting outside with the limo. Just another week before he had to in for that surgery, and the prospect irritated him. It wasn't fear of dying on the table or even the uneasiness of living with a bad valve in his heart that troubled Koskie. It was the deals that would be missed, the money he wouldn't be making. He knew that his team was close to getting control of Swift Processing and once they did that, he could let the staff go and relocate the company to India. Too bad about the American jobs that would be lost, but that was their problem. The elevator door closed and he pressed the lobby button, feeling a painful twinge in his left arm that ran up to his shoulder. That operation would be none too early.
With an abrupt and terrible certainty, Koskie knew he was not alone. There had been no one in the elevator when he had entered, but he felt the presence of someone right behind him, almost breathing down his neck. With a sick sinking feeling, he turned around and saw a man just inches away. Despite himself, he screamed and jumped back. The stranger was bundled up in a trenchcoat and scarf, with a fedora pulled down low. A white cloth mask was fitted snugly over his face, with dark sunglasses covering his eyes.
"Where did you come from? How did you get in here?"
With a low whisper, the stranger answered, "I come and go as I wish, Mr Koskie." With that, he raised a Parabellum in a gloved hand and fired it at pointblank range directly into the CEO's left eye. Blood splattered over the inside of the cage as Koskie dropped straight down, and the stranger stepped over him. He shot twice more, both times into the victim's face and leaving very little of it intact. The elevator door dinged as it was about to open, but before that happened, there was a faint rush of air and the killer was gone as if he had not been there. Two techs on their lunch break stepped into the elevator and tripped over the corpse.
A week later, in Bambino's, a restaurant on Central Avenue in Albany, the Esposito brothers were sitting glumly in a booth at the back. Eating dinner had been a chore this time, and half the veal remained untouched. Joe rubbed his face wearily. "He's not coming, Ray. I told you he wouldn't show up."
Ray did not answer immediately. He stared into his empty coffee cup as if there was a message in it. "Why wouldn't he come? Money talks, Joe, everybody knows that. Even someone as mysterious as Never."
As he said that, a man stood up from the booth behind him. The Esposito family owned this restaurant, they had searched it thoroughly and no one had come in. All that evening, Joe and Ray had been sitting there waiting for their visitor, and now, somehow, he had appeared from nowhere.
Nothing could be seen of Never. Between the hat and the gloves and the cloth mask which covered his entire head, not a bit of skin showed. The nearly opaque sunglasses hid his eyes. As he rose unexpectedly, Joe Esposito gave a twitch and knocked over what was left of his glass of wine. "Whoa! What the hell...?!"
Ray Esposito took a deep breath. "There's no need to do that, Mr Never. We can do business like civilized people."
"One has to be careful," replied the masked man in a barely audible voice. "You saw about our friend in the paper?"
"Yes. Excellent. Well done. Perhaps we can do business again."
"Perhaps," said Never, holding out a gloved hand. Taking the cue, Ray reached inside his suit and took out a white business envelope that bulged. The masked man did not glance at it, he thrust it inside his coat and raised one finger in warning. "I am glad you honor your agreement, sir. If you wish my services again, let the manager here know and I will drop by at some point to ask him. Then we can arrange a meeting."
"Suits me. Listen, Mr Never, we've played fair with you. We are men of honor, our word can be trusted. How about letting us know how you pulled that off? A guy has natural curiosity."
Never shook his head. "Allow me my privacy, sir." He pointed at the front door with a sharp gesture. Joe and Ray both looked up and when they turned back, their visitor was gone. "How does he DO that?" growled Joe, not expecting an answer.
The next sighting of Mr Never was at the Chase National Bank on State Street. When two armed couriers came in with locked canvas satchels of cash, the masked stepped around a corner where no one had seen him second earlier, gun in hand and ready. He shot both guards dead, Knelt to pick up the satchels and was gone from sight. The alarms went off, the doors locked automatically and the bank's own security guard came running up. But the killer was not found.
After that, the masked man seemed to up the stakes. An Army colonel with twenty years in service was found dead in his office in the Pentagon. The hard drive on his computer was missing, and with it, the real names of a dozen undercover agents who had infiltrated Mideastern terrorist groups. The door was locked from the inside and the sentry down the hall by the stairs swore no one had been seen entering or leaving. Rumors started within hours that the hard drive was being auctioned off to enemy nations for the highest bid. And still, no one had a face or a name to attach to this strange criminal. He became known as Never.
II.
Sitting behind his desk in a modest office on 44th Street and Third Avenue in Manhattan, Bane read through the clippings once again. He had called his service to send him anything related to the Never crimes from any newspapers in the world. So far, there had been six crimes definitely identified and two more that were possibles. All had been within the continental United States, ranging from Albany to Washington DC. The Dire Wolf kept shuffling the pieces of paper, thinking there must be a pattern in there that would give him the clue. He stood up quickly and started to pace.
At forty-seven, Bane remained a gaunt man six feet tall, with grey eyes and black hair that showed not one fleck of white. For once, he was not wearing his trademark black turtleneck and sport jacket, but a tan dress shirt with the cuffs rolled up. He was just aching to tackle this Mr Never business. It was exactly his sort of game, but he did not know where to begin.
The doorbell rang and he swung around as if a bee had stung him. His enhanced reflexes made him jumpy and hyper at the best of times. Leaving his office, he entered the tiny waiting room that held only two chairs and a low table with magazines on it. He glared up at the small closed-circuit monitor and saw two people in the hall outside. The way they dressed, their body language, led him to a snap decision. He opened the door and said, "Yes?"
The man was of average height and build, very clean-shaven, with short brown hair and light brown eyes. Next to him was a woman a little taller than he was, a little wide in the hips, with a serious oval face and dark eyes. Both wore professional suits, pressed and neat, shoes polished. The man asked, "Are you Jeremy Bane?"
"Could be. Who's asking?"
"FBI. Special agents Celeste Mooney and Hall Debitz," said the woman. They both held up their billfolds with the ID cards and Bane examined them, not just giving them a quick glance but comparing them to the photos and checking details.
"I'm Bane. What brings you here?"
"May we come inside?" asked Debitz. He had a faint New England tartness to his voice. "We would like to discuss a proposition with you."
"All right." Bane stood aside and ushered them in, closing the door. He gestured them to take seats in the plain wooden chairs and circled around behind his desk. As he did so, he noticed them glimpsing the clippings on the desk with interest.
"I haven't had visitors from the Bureau in a while," the Dire Wolf said. Unhurriedly, he collected the clippings into their manila folder and put them to one side. His desk was uncluttered, with just a reading lamp and a cordless phone sitting in a charger. Two IN and OUT trays sat to one side, and he placed the folder there.
"Mr Bane, first I want to say I have wanted to meet you for some time," Hall Debitz began. "My area of interest is inexplicable crimes, mysteries with a touch of the bizarre, even the supernatural. So naturally, I know about the Dire Wolf. You have had a remarkable career. Maybe the general public doesn't know you. Perhaps even most law enforcement officials don't. But those of us who follow the darker, stranger side of the world, you are well known. You captured Samhain and Seth Petrov. You fought Seneca. I have heard you tangled with Wu Lung and the likes of Arem Kamende. Very impressive."
"Thanks for all the compliments," Bane said. "Are you part of Department 21 Black?"
"21 Black? No. They are more concerned with just cleaning up and closing files. My partner and I are mostly assigned to the same sort of activities you have been dealing with."
Celeste Mooney broke in, giving Debitz a stern glance. "The official policy of the Federal Bureau of Investigation does not concern itself with, nor does it admit the existence of, the occult. The Unknown is not our business. And yet, from time to time, events occurs which seem at first to have no rational explanation." She took a breath, raising and lowering a serious bustline beneath the severe white blouse. "So we deal with them as such until they can be explained."
"Sounds reasonable. I saw you notice those clippings. Yes, I am gathering information on this Mr Never, also known as the Disappearing Man and The Man Who Wasn't There. Just by chance, is that which brings you here?"
"It is," Mooney answered. "Mr Bane, you are not cleared for Top Secret information. I know you have been trusted by the agency in the past with classified data that you really should never have learned. This information stayed with you. If it were to leak somehow, you would be investigated yourself and prosecuted for much of the lawbreaking you have done in the past. Does that make sense?"
"Come on, let's get going," the Dire Wolf said. "I know all this. I'm a loose cannon that sometimes is useful to the FBI and other government agencies, not to mention the NYPD. But's all off the record. Never happened. Denied completely. Tell me about the Mr Never business."
With a relieved expression, Hall Debitz launched into a summary of Never crimes. There had been more of them than the media had found about, and they had been increasingly serious. The man was becoming a real threat not to law and order but to national security. In addition to the hard drive with the names of undercover agents, Never had stolen plans needed to construct a nuclear device and this had been kept secret from the public.
More than an hour went by as Debitz and Mooney explained in detail everything that was known. Finally, they wound down and watched the Dire Wolf expectantly.
"Here's my opinion," he said. "Unofficial and off the record and all that. This man has a gralic power. There is no sense in trying to figure out how he appears and vanishes by looking for trap doors or mirrors or anything like that. It's not something Human science can explain. There are a few different ways he could be doing this, using gralic force, but I can't tell until I see him in action. I'll start investigating tonight. You have my number, let me know of any new sightings."
"Well. We know you typically work alone," Mooney said with a tinge of disdain in her voice. "Normally, policy would make us request that we go with you, but.. considering your success rate, I think we should allow you a free hand."
"Much to my regret," put in Debitz. "I have wanted to see you in action half my life."
Bane got to his feet and moved around the desk, giving them the hint. Both agents rose and followed him through the waiting room to the door to the hall. "I will inform you as soon as I get anywhere," Bane said.
"This meeting never took place, of course. Debitz and I are now eating a disappointing dinner at the Castaways restaurant before driving back to DC after interviewing witnessess." An unexpected smile lit her face, making her look much younger. "How appropriate. A meeting that never happened, dealing with the man who was never there."
As they left and the door clicked shut, Bane lifted both fists and almost brought them up face high in exultation. Yes! the hunt was on again!
III.
He hit the Thruway in his Toyota Matrix, with the knapsack and shoulder bag he always kept stocked and ready to grab. It was just two in the afternoon. Bane stopped in Poughkeepsie to gas up the car and grab a roast beef sub, then was on the road again. He had been in the Albany area only a year or so earlier on the Three Widows case and he knew his way around well enough. By five, he was pulling off the Thruway and turning up Central Avenue. It took twenty minutes, going to the edge of the city, before he located the two-story house belonging to Ray Esposito.
Bane dropped in unannounced, his reputation giving him a certain edge. Organized crime had long ago decided to leave him alone as long as he returned the favor; the criminals Bane had killed or captured were loners outside the families. Most of the time, professional criminals disliked wild cards like Midnight War maniacs because they stirred the police into action. Still, being the man who had captured the likes of Samhain or Seth Petrov made Bane seem enough of a threat to be taken seriously. He met in private with Esposito and got him to agree to call Mr Never for a meeting. Esposito was not happy dealing with the man in the first place, regarding as some sort of strega or witch who should not be suffered to live.
Getting back in his car, the Dire Wolf found a Holiday Inn and rented a room for a few days. He ordered a fish and chips meal, took a quick shower before it came and dressed again in fresh clothes from his bag. After eating, Bane realized he was in for what he hated most in the world, waiting. He never watched TV. It just didn't register for him. Going to the lobby, he bought a copy of every newspaper they had and sat cross-legged on the floor with them spread out in front of them. The second time through, he was disappointed there was no sign of the Midnight War going on in the Capitol Region. If the Never case didn't pan out, he had hoped to find something else weird and dangerous to tackle.
That night and the following day were misery for him. Sitting still took all his will power but he wanted to be ready if Esposito called. He did his Doh Ra form twice, swam furiously in the pool for an hour and even tried playing the video game machines. He missed Cindy more than ever and he went to see her at Tel Shai more often. Maybe it was getting time for him to think about retiring and go stay at Tel Shai himself.
By nightfall, he was going stir crazy. Bane had his phone with him, so he stepped outside the motel, picked the direction out of the city and started to jog. He was a frightening sight at a full run. he moved so quickly it looked unreal, as if it were a trick of some kind. Four miles out, he spun around and hurtled back toward the motel. He never timed himself, seeing no point in it, but he did wonder if he was any slower now than he had been as a young man. Back in his room, he sat down on the bed, breathing faster but not at all winded, and feeling much better. When his phone rang, he snatched it from his pocket. Esposito had heard from Never. The assassin would be there the next night at closing time.
The following day was a struggle for him to get through. In desperation, he made a series of phone calls, checking in on various colleagues and allies he had not seen in a while. This turned out to be for the best, as he caught up on a lot of Midnight War gossip and heard about some odd goings-on in Maine he might want to look into. At four in the afternoon, he did his DohRa form to get stretched and warmed up. As far as he could tell, there was no stiffness, no weak areas that might fail. Taking a shower and shaving, he got the Trom-metal armor from his knapsack and pulled it on. Although it looked and felt like dark silk with a sheen to it, the material was better than most heavy body armor; this suit covered his torso and his upper arms and legs.
As always, he wore the silver-bladed daggers which Kenneth Dred had given him, strapped to his forearms with the hilts toward his wrists, Black pants,a black turtleneck and boots completed his outfit. A holster threaded through his belt held an air pistol behind his left hip. This fired the potent anesthestic dart, based on the formula first devised by the Sting eighty years earlier.
As he put on his black sport jacket and loaded its pockets with the various gimmicks and tools he used, Bane felt his spirits lift. Finally, getting in motion! He looked around the motel room and was satisfied he had everything he needed. Going out through a hallway door into the parking lot, he climbed into his Toyota and started back toward the Bambino's Restaurant on Lark Street. It was getting past five when he found a parking spot a block away, circled around and entered the restaurant through the back service door, where an employee was expecting him. Bane moved through the kitchen and got into the tiny closet full of supplies, crates and boxes and bags of dry food. From here, he could reach the swinging door to the dining area and the two booths where the Espositos would be waiting.
The next few hours were torture again, as he had to be quiet and to ignore the occasional cook reaching in to get some supplies. It felt more like a few days than a few hours, but finally he heard the familiar voices of the two brothers arguing. THey were in the booth right outside the swinging door. Bane held as still as he could. Ray seemed to think they were putting their own heads on the chopping block by doing this, but Joe held firm that this was the best way. The cooks cleaned up and left.And, right after nine, a third voice suddenly joined them. Stealing out of the supply closet, Bane listened intently. Ray said they had another assignment available if Mr Never cared to accept it. Slowly, making no more noise than his own shadow, the Dire Wolf stepped over and peered at chest height through the crack in between the swinging doors.
THe Esposito boys were debating something with a man of average height, rather stocky, completely bundled up so nothing could be seen. He waved one hand in a dismissive gesture at whatever they were saying, the other hand in his trench coat pocket. None of them were looking in his direction. Bane straightened up, pulled a door inward toward himself and stepped through. The faintest flicker showed in Ray Esposito's face as he caught the movement from the corner of his eye.
In a flash, the masked man whirled and his hand came up with the Parabellum in it, firing twice. Both bullets caught Bane in the center of the chest with savage impact, he fell backwards through the swinging door. Instantly, he had rolled over and surged up again and a third shot knocked the wind out of him. Before he could get up again, the muzzle of the gun was an inch from his forehead. He froze and watched for an opportunity.
"The police?" came a hoarse whisper. "Ah, I see. Lucky for you I do not kill for free, my friend. I am surprised you are still alive, though." Without taking his eyes off Bane, Never said to the Espositos, "So much for your talk of honor. Death will come for you, slyly, silently in the night. We will meet again." And with that, he was gone.
Rubbing his chest and taking deep slow breaths, Bane straightened up. That had not gone well. If the killer had aimed for his head, it would have been all over. He did not hear what Ray and Joe Esposito were saying, but then they were largely yelling at each other. With stiff movements that became more normal by the time he reached the front door, he went out on the street. Even with the armor, getting shot like that was not fun. There would be some major bruising by late that night. Out on the street, the Dire Wolf headed around the corner to where his car was parked. As he approached, the Link in his pocket beeped and he pulled it up. The screen read GARRISON NEBEL. Bane said, "Yeah?"
"You are ready for information," came the calm voice of the blind mystic. It was not a question.
"How did you- oh, right. It's who you are. You have been following the case?"
"Slightly. I am involved with my own explorations. Fanedral has been watching this world lately. But I understand the basic problem you face. Just now, you had vibrations of sudden physical pain and disappointment."
Bane scowled at the Link as if considering whether to throw it away or not. "Yeah. I met the suspect. He took a few shots at me and got away."
"Jeremy, listen," Nebel said over the phone. "When he vanished, was there any light or sound given off?"
"No."
"Did you feel the air move or hear a faint rushing noise?"
"I don't know! I had just taken three bullets to the chest!"
"It was not a god-gate then," Nebel said. "Nor was it an Eldar travel crystal. Few are the Humans who can teleport by themselves. I think, Jeremy, you are dealing with a projection."
Leaning against his car, Bane touched his aching chest tentatively. "A projection? What, an out of body sort of thing?"
"Yes. But this person can materialize his projection. It is not truly physical as a flesh and blood being is, but the gralic energy is dense enough to hold an object or to move air enough to speak. When the host relaxes his sending, the apparition returns instantly to where the projector lies in a trance."
"What about the gun? Those bullets were not illusion, Gary."
"The apparition is able to hold some physical objects. Not more than what the real person could carry. I believe it takes a loaded gun with it when it leaves the host, just as it can return with a stolen object."
"Let me think," Bane said. "You know more about these things than I do, Garrison. Let me ask you, how can I fight an energy being that disappears in the wink of an eye?"
"You must find the host," said Nebel and hung up.
III.
After a few more minutes, the aching in his chest eased up. Leonard Slade had explained that the Trom-metal armor dispersed impact at any point to be spread over its entire surace. If Bane had been braced and ready for the shots, he could have stayed on his feet and grabbed Mr Never but he had been in mid-step when the bullets hit. The Dire Wolf fingered three holes in the shirt, through which the metal armor could be felt. Mr Never was a good shot, he had to give him credit. Going back to the Bambino Restaurant, Bane had a brief argument with the Esposito brothers and he reminded them that they could only knew Mr Never because they had hired him for some illegal reason, probably murder. So it was hard to feel sympathy for them now that they had lost his trust.
Bane went back to his car and headed to the motel where he was staying. Garrison Nebel still troubled him. It wasn't just that Nebel had sensed Bane's sudden physical pain, Bane had long ago accepted that the blind mystic was creepy in that sense. It was that he always gave clues and hints instead of just coming out with it. Bane pulled into the parking lot of the Holiday Inn and marched through the lobby, past two loud couples babbling about the concert they had tickets for, and down the long hallway flanked with doors on either side. He suddenly felt apprehensive as he slid his electronic ticket into the metal box to unlock the door. What were the limits on Mr Never? Was it possible he was in the motel room now, waiting? Was this a trap? With his left hand, he reached behind and pulled out his airgun, thumbed its safety off. Bane set himself, clicked the door open and dove through in a tight somersault to come up on one knee, gun swinging to cover the entire room. Nothing. He whirled to get to his feet and checked the bathroom. It was empty. Letting out a breath, the Dire Wolf holstered his gun and went to close and lock the door.
He did not feel embarassed over the acrobatics. Twice,he had done that and come up in a room with gunmen waiting for him. The sudden entrance and low tumble confused shooters for the split-second necessary that he could get the advantage. Bane unlocked his canvas shoulder bag and took his laptop from it. He had brought the charger and now he plugged it in and flipped the lid up. Nebel had said he thought this Mr Never was a "projection," gralic energy dense enough to seem solid and controlled at a distance by its creator.
The Dire Wolf paused for a minute. He had encountered similar phenomena himself in his career. There had been the Red Spectre, a crackling silhouette of energy sent out by a bitter woman to kill her rivals. And there had been William Murdock. He was working for Kenneth Dred already when Bane had been hired and first entered the Midnight War. Will had been able to send out his awareness to search and observe, while his body went into a comatose state. Poor Will. He had been dead so long now.
The next hour was spent searching the Internet. Most of what was online about psychic phenomena had no value, but he had learned the few websites which really knew about the Midnight War. He himself was discussed on a few of them. First, he found out of a few things about the rare skill of gralic projection, also known as bi-location. It was not astral travel. The important aspect was that the sender could concentrate the gralir into a semblance of himself. This projection was focussed enough to look and sound real. It could pick up small objects, open a door, even drive a car in some cases. It could not be harmed by most means. If the projection was struck hard enough, it would just dissipate and have to be reformed. Some said this would kill the sender, but there were cases where the sender was not harmed by anything done to the projection. There was a limitation few knew about. The sender had to be familiar with the location he sent the apparition to. It was not enough to see photos, the sender had to have been there in person so his subconscious was familiar with the site.
After an hour, Bane had to get up and walk around. He was faster than any true Human, but this had its price and a restless nature was one of them. He paced, looked out the window at the night, then went back to work. He assembled a list of experts on gralic projection. The Dire Wolf scowled as if trying to frighten the laptop into working faster. These were some boring people. One had also written a fiction series, VAMPIRES I HAVE LOVED. Then, one of the experts abruptly seemed more intriguing.
Dr Timothy Estroff, author of more than a dozen books on the paranormal. Two of them were about gralic projection. Bane could not find a picture of the man online, which annoyed him. He sat up when he saw that Estroff had done a series of articles on US military experiments with ESP, which included many interviews with generals. So. That one Army officer who had been killed... Bane checked and found that, yes, he had been one of the men interviewed for the articles. So there was a chance Estroff had been to the man's house. The blurb for one of his books said, "Dr Estroff lives in a charming old house outside of Schenectady with his daughter Andrea and two Golden Lab retrievers. He says all three are the best companions anyone could ask."
Once again, Bane got up and walked around, hands clasped behind his back. Most of the Mr Never crimes had taken place in the Capital District, that is Albany-Schenectady-Troy, natural enough if that was the area Estroff was most familiar with. He stopped and made himself get back on the bed and back to the computer. He could not find the exact address for Estroff. Maybe someone more skilled could dig it up, but he came up blank. The Wolf thought about possibly calling those two FBI agents, certainly they could get the information in a blink. But then they would go investigate Estroff or send other agents. No, he wanted to do this himself. He kept trying and eventually hit on something. The local paper, THE ALBANY TIMES-UNION, was archived online and in one issue was a letter from "Dr Timothy Estroff, 34 Fox Lane, Schenectady NY." Perfect. The letter was a furious sermon about the rudeness of young people playing rap music too loud, and Bane mentally thanked those young people for annoying Estroff.
Pulling up a map, he found Fox Lane on the outskirts of the city and spent a few minutes fixing its location in his mind. Before he left, Bane went into the bathroom, where he stripped and checked out where he had been hit by Never's slugs. Those were some impressive bruises, but he could move normally. Dressing again with a fresh shirt that did not have bullet holes, he checked his gear and headed out. In the Toyota again, he started driving and thinking. It was almost one o'clock in the morning when he found Fox Lane. This was a narrow country road away from the lights of town, with houses spread widely apart and long stretches of wooded areas. As he went around a curve, he passed a house up on a hill that seemed to have every light on. He pulled off the road under an elm tree and turned the car off. From where he sat, he could see the illumination of the house but no noise.
Dressed all in black, Bane would be hard to spot in the darkness. His Kumundu training had included stealth and his old partner Shiro Mitsuru had given him many tips and pointers. He was in no hurry. Slowly, the Dire Wolf stalked through the trees and bushes, up the hill toward the back of his house. Studying the layout, he thought where he would have placed a sentry and crept up on that spot. Sure enough, a big guy in a white windbreaker was leaning against a tree, hands in his pockets. Bane listened a few more minutes, heard nothing, and decided this man was alone. Not very professional.
The Wolf painstakingly drew the airpistol with its needle-thin barrel, aimed at the guy's neck and fired. There was a barely audible cough of expelled CO2, then the surprised grunt as the sentry felt the sharp sting. He slapped up at his neck, probably thinking it was some insect and was just touching the dart when he passed out. Bane had rushed up and caught him, lowering him to the ground.
Retrieving the dart, the Dire Wolf stuck it in a pocket of his jacket for later reuse. He loved those things for work like this. They had drawbacks. In cold weather, when people wore thicker layers of clothing, the darts could not be relied on as much and they did not have the range of a bullet. He moved forward again, toward the back of the house. It was a big three story place, with an attached garage and a satellite dish on the roof. Almost every window showed a light. Bane circled the house very slowly. Five cars and an SUV were parked along the driveway, and he spotted two men standing by the SUV, with the red dot of a cigarette moving at face level. This was getting better and better.
Back to the rear of the house, where no one seemed to be stationed. A small patio held some light lawn furniture and a round table. Bane hopped on to the patio and stood flattened up against the wall, listening and watching. These people did not seem to be good at setting up security. He opened the screen door, found the wooden door beyond was unlocked and passed through. He went through the kitchen and into a hallway. To his left were stairs going up, to his right a door leading down to the cellar. Still no guards. Ahead, he heard voices. Moving slowly, ready at any second for an explosion of violence if he was spotted. He positioned himself in the shadow of the stairs and got so he could get a glimpse of the living room without being seen himself. Mr Never was holding court.
IV.
In that room, eight thugs stood in a group, facing two other men who sat in fancy wicker chairs backed up against a wall. One of these was Mr Never, still concealed in white cloth mask, trenchcoat and hat. He was sitting with hands on the arms of his chair, relaxed and confident. In the chair next to him was a middle-aged man with a round face and white goatee, wearing black horn-rimmed glasses. His belt was pulled up to nearly his chest, evidently he had been putting on weight and not buying a new wardrobe. This man held out a small manila envelope and one of the thugs stepped forward to take it. Money, no doubt.
Looking over the group, Bane was not impressed at all. These were not top notch crooks in any field. Most were white, there were two black men in the group and one Latino. It looked like a burglar or two, a pickpocket, a pair of obvious drug dealers. The biggest one was a real bruiser, with a flattened nose and sunken sullen eyes. Most were peeking into those manila envelopes and then putting them away.
"This week has gone well," Mr Never asked, raising a hand with palm up. "And we have just begun. You men are only the beginning. You are the first to follow me, but I will build an army. An empire of crime! With my powers, I cannot be captured or held... and that means none of you will ever go to jail, because I can appear and take you away." The masked men held his open hands to take them in. "Each of you will command your separate gang. My next move will be the most daring and audacious crime in history. The world will tremble in fear, wondering where we will strike next!"
One of the crooks, wearing a black leather jacket with the sleeves ripped off to show muscular tattooed arms, actually said, "Let's hear it for Mr Never. Our new king, Mr Never!" They all cheered while Bane smirked from the shadows.
The best dressed man there, wearing a neat suit with perhaps too flashy an assortment of jewelry, spoke up. "I think we all agree this is a sweet deal. Now, how about our next assignment, Mr Estroff?"
Hearing that, Bane drew back further and frowned. Estroff? What was he doing there? How could he be there and functional if he was projecting Mr Never? This made no sense. The Wolf continued to eavesdrop and sure enough, one of the crooks said, "I got it, thanks Mr Estroff." Bane stole another glance, then withdrew. He had pushed his luck as far as he could before the fighting would have to start. That WAS the same Mr Never who had shot him. The size, the build, even the details of the trenchcoat were identical. Yet he was sitting and talking while Dr Estroff was also active.
Swinging around, Bane scuttled silently up the stairs. On the landing were three doors. The one in the middle was open and showed a bathroom. There was a door at each end of the landing, with light showing beneath the one to his right. Bane crept up on it, listened and drew his dart gun. This was a big gamble but he had to go with his instincts. He opened the door and plunged inside, taking the scene in an instant. A big man in a dark suit was standing with his back turned, swivelling around at the slight noise. The gun in his hand raised as the heavy metal dart jabbed into his neck, right next to his windpipe. The man made a pained noise at the stinging impact, dropped the gun with a clatter to the floor and slumped. Bane moved in to catch him. As he lowered the sleeping crook to the wooden floor, the Dire Wolf looked around.
On a double bed with a headboard, under a pink spotlight aimed at her face, a woman in her late thirties lay, fully dressed and apparently in a deep slumber. She was not good looking, bearing a dumpy resemblance to Dr Estroff, and Bane thought of course this is the daughter, what was her name? Andrea. In that second, everything clicked into place. Holstering the dart gun, he stepped over closer to the bed and slid one of the silver daggers from its sheath. He gently pressed it so the point just barely made contact with her throat.
He was barely in time. Not coming down the hall or through the doorway, but simply appearing, Mr Never stood ten feet away. He had his Parabellum in hand but froze motionless as he understood the situation.
"You heard the gun hit the floor, eh?" Bane said. "And you told your goons to remain downstairs. Don't move. Lower the gun. That's right."
"Who are you? What do you want?" hissed the masked man, taking one step closer.
"Oh, that hurts my feelings that you don't recognize me. I'm a freelance vigilante, I guess you would say. An avenger for all the people you two have murdered." Bane slipped his other arm under the comatose Andrea Estroff and raised her to a sitting position on the bed. Her head drooped to one side. "See, to the best of my knowledge, you guys have killed eight people. And you yourself said it's just the beginning. Who is going to stop you? What court could handle your case? What jury would believe any of it?"
Never raised the gun again and chuckled. "You fool! In the room below us are eight armed men. More are outside. You are not going anywhere. Lower that woman."
"Not going to happen. My mistake was thinking it was your father who was Mr Never. But, just because he knows about gralic projection doesn't mean he's any good at it. You're the one with the talent.. aren't you, Andrea?"
Never saw an opening and fired, thinking to aim past the unconscious woman and hit Bane in the head. It was only a ten foot shot. But the Dire Wolf had been trained, he read the body language and knew within a tiny fraction of a second when the apparition would shoot. Even as that unreal gloved finger tightened on the trigger, Bane yanked Andrea Estroff up to take the impact. Two slugs thumped home right in the heart. As she sagged into death, the bundled figure of Mr Never blinked out of existence and his gun fell to the hardwood floor. Bane let the dead woman fall onto the bed. He flashed to close and lock the door, then got to the window in two long strides. It was already open a crack. He yanked it up, climbed through and swung around to hang by his fingertips from the sill. He glimpsed bushes below and dropped, landing on them and rolling off. From upstairs, he could hear yelling. Let those goons figure out what had happened. One thing was sure, they had seen the last of Mr Never.
Racing through the yard, Bane saw a guard suddenly loom up in front of him, starting to yell. The Dire Wolf got in close and doubled the man up with a punch that sank wrist deep into a doughy stomach, then sent him to the ground with a straight blow from the other hand. Once, he would have stayed to shoot it out with the entire gang but now he felt they were not important. Without Never as a mastermind, they just dime a dozen lowlife.
There was his car. He beeped to unlock the door and activate the remote starter, hopping in and took off into the night. Next, he would have to go back to Albany to retrieve his gear. By that time, it would be almost dawn. He decided he would get a few hours sleep before calling those FBI special agents and giving them an unofficial off the record deniable report. Then it dawned on him for the first time. That hadn't been murder back there, since Mr Never was a projection. Andrea Estroff had shot herself.
3/20/2013
