"One Night At the HE'S NOT HERE"
May. 17th, 2022 05:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"One Night At the HE'S-NOT-HERE"
2/16/2020
I.
Five hours of steady if unhurried drinking had not produced any measurable effect on Bane. The Dire Wolf had started with draft beer and then switched to vodka and lime juice around midnight, but he might as well have been ordering club soda for all it mattered. Decades on a Tagra diet had boosted his healing properties to the point where alcohol was ignored by his body and simply passed through in his urine. For that matter, enemies had tried to outright poison him several times with no consquences other than mild discomfort for a few minutes. The Tagra diet enabled Bane and other Tel Shai knights like him to recover from physical damage almost instantly. They weren't literally indestructible, of course; trauma severe and sudden enough would kill them as certainly as it would everyone else but they survived an amazing amount of injury with impunity.
The Tagra regimen was another reason why, at sixty-three, Bane seemed to be a trim, athletic man no more than forty. The short black hair was sprinkled with white flecks and there were crow's-feet lines at the corners of the pale grey eyes, but otherwise the Dire Wolf hardly seemed near middle age.
Bane was observing that the HE'S-NOT-HERE was a strange establishment in many ways. The most conspicious oddity was the glass panel which ran the length of the wall, behind which a small lion cub wandered back and forth. The little beast seemed genuinely curious about the patrons of the bar, often watching their actions closely and sometimes tapping on the glass with a paw for attention. To everyone's great delight, the cub reacted to fast songs on the jukebox by swaying and hopping in a manner that nearly qualified as dancing. Even the humorless Bane had to smile at that.
Every now then, Milton the bartender slid open a section of the glass and scratched the lion cub behind the ears or rubbed under its chin exactly as one would treat a regular kitten. "You're on best behavior, Bubba," he said, "I love ya and give you a big kiss." Milton was a short man about forty, wearing white slacks and a black V-neck sweater over a white shirt with a red bow tie. He wasn't handsome but he had a likeable honest face. The smooth way he moved from one customer to the next, keeping the drinks coming and chatting just enough put everyone at ease. "Lenny, you all set?" he was saying. "Cheer up, you're still young and as long as you got your health..."
Bane could see how this place would be popular. He wished a bit sadly that he was able to frequent neighborhood bars just for the socializing but of course his business tonight inevitably involved chasing murderers. The dark shadowy world of the Midnight War was all he knew. Even though he had officially retired, right now he still had the silver daggers strapped to his forearms under his jacket sleeves and the .38 Smith & Wesson revolver was holstered behind his left hip.
A huge open-framework bronze clock on the wall indicated it was one-thirty AM. By now, most of the regulars here had been loosened enough by their drinks that their consciousness was getting a bit skewed. Still sharp and clear, though, Bane noticed some of the peculiar things going on. At one point, spotting movement from the corner of his eye, he caught the moment when the name plates on the adjoining doors of the bathrooms flipped so that the MEN'S sign now read WOMEN'S and vice versa. That was likely to cause some confusion. The Dire Wolf also was certain that the bar stools fixed to the floor were very slowly being raised or lowered an inch or two... enough to be mildly disorienting.
The bartender caught Bane's attention with a gleeful grin, giving an obvious wink. Milton had realized Bane was catching on, and he let the Dire Wolf know that they were both in on the prankish tricks of the HE'S-NOT-HERE. Most of the patrons were working through perceptions fuzzy enough that they felt something odd was going on but couldn't quite figure out the details. Faint scratching noises could be heard under the floor at intervals, adding to the general bemusement.
The jukebox began blaring out an energetic if odius rap song, "I Could Bust Ya Choker." Not only did the lion cub start bobbing up and down to the beat, but a young redheaded woman leaped up and began dancing. Between her waist-length hair and spectacular figure in beige yoga pants and a white T-shirt cut off at the rib cage, she seized everyone's attention. Except Bane's. He caught the bartender swapping his clip-on red bow tie for a larger green one. To his own surprise, Bane was enjoying the mild befuddlement on the faces of the bar-goers as these tiny changes started to puzzle them. He didn't see where it was doing any harm and it gave the crowd something to ponder.
A gust of freezing air swept in as the door opened and closed to admit a man in a tightly belted trench coat with the collar up and a soft felt fedora pulled low over his face. He resembled Milton closely. Bane knew that this must be insurance investigator Ambrose Schnorrer. That meant that the two Midnight War threats whom the Dire Wolf had been tracking were nearby. Any amusement he had been allowing himself dropped away. Back to business as usual.
II.
Not many gave more than a glance to the newcomer, as the red-haired girl was at this point moving along the row of men at the bar and trying to cajole someone into dancing with her. A remarkably fat old man with a white billy-goat beard accepted her offer. He took her by the hand and attempted a sort of Tango that made the place erupt with joy. The applause and shouts of encouragement drowned out the jukebox.
Ambrose claimed an empty stool at the far end of the bar and Bane went over to join him. The investigator tilted his fedora back on his head and smiled faintly. "Glad you could make it, Jeremy."
"You're dealing with some dangerous people," Bane replied. "I hope you've been careful. Don't let her stupid name mislead you, Sarah Bellum has filled half a cemetery in the past few years."
Milton the bartender sauntered over with an open bottle of Corona beer and a glass. "Here you go, junior."
That made Ambrose snort. "Milton is seven months and eight days older than me, I was premature. He claims we're as close to twins as you can get without having the same birthday."
"Talk to you later," the bartender said. "Looks like Rachel's starting to hitch up her shirt and I better stop her before the joint gets busted."
As Ambrose poured out some beer with great deliberation, Bane gave the room a suspicious survey. A lifetime spent fighting have given him deep-rooted wariness of his surroundings. He noticed a faint but distinctly reddish tinge was in the lighting that hadn't been there before and he mentioned it.
"Feh, that's Milton all right. What a crazy mixed-up kid. He's blown half his profits on gimmicks for this bar. I'm sure you've noticed the stools getting higher and lower."
"And the bathroom signs," Bane said. "This is all his sense of humor?"
"Yep. Sometimes he releases dry ice fumes in the parking lot to make it look spooky. The monkey business works, I guess, people keep coming here despite his prices." The investigator took a healthy swig and placed the glass down on a paper coaster. "Anyway, this is where my err client wanted to meet you."
The Dire Wolf had brought his own glass with him, even though it held little except ice cubes at this point. "What does she want, Ambrose? You know you can't trust her or her friend with the fur."
"Yeah, Lorenzo took some getting used to. Sarah Bellum's other employee isn't much more presentable. But they're in the back room where the poker games are sometimes held, waiting on you."
Bane frowned more than usual. "Does your brother know about this?"
"Nah, he thinks we're just meeting some shady underworld types," Ambrose said, pouring himself the remainder of the beer. "Smugglers or numbers runners, something like that. I'm nervous, have to admit it. Somehow she heard that I knew you a little bit... we did work together last year on that Three Hunchbacks mess... and she figured you'd trust me enough to come here. Let me tell you, dealing with her gives me the willies big time."
"Not your usual client," the Dire Wolf admitted.
"Hell no. I'm not used to talking to a brain floating in a fish tank...!"
III.
Following Ambrose, Bane enter the back room and closed the door behind them. He could feel the investigator tense up at the situation, but he himself had long ago become jaded by the fantastic. The far end of the room had an exit door, with crates of beer and liquor bottles piled on either side. A green metal filing cabinet and some open shelves crammed with loose papers evidently served Milton Schnorrer as an office. But the round table where poker was played some nights had been pushed aside to make room for a bizarre apparatus.
It was not literally a fish tank as Ambrose had described it, but a rectangular glass container five feet high and three feet wide. Aeration bubbles stirred a thick greenish liquid in which sat what had once been a human brain. The monstrous organ was larger than it had been two years earlier. Instead of the classic walnut-halves structure, the brain had a half dozen irregular lobes growing out of it but their texture was rough and the surface was an unhealthy dark maroon color. The horrifying object rested in a shallow depression atop what looked like a platform holding diagnostic equipment. Five thin cords ran from that platform to leads which were glued to the brain's surface. The whole set-up was plugged into two wall outlets.
On top of the tank was an array of speakers, microphones and cameras. A pleasant contralto voice spoke, female and smooth, "I am sorry that we meet again under such circumstances, Mr Bane."
"You mean, where I'm not a helpless prisoner you're about to torture? That's okay with me. You've looked better, Sarah Bellum." The Dire Wolf nodded toward the dark figure which stirred behind the equipment. "And for a Chimp with a human brain, you seem to be doing okay, Lorenzo."
The ape growled angrily. His forehead showed a thick ridge of scar tissue that ran into the jet-black fur. In one paw was a 9mm semi-automatic pistol that had its trigger guard sawed off so that his thick finger could use it.
"My friend still cannot speak," came the voice from the apparatus. "He simply does not have the anatomy for it. He communicates with me through gestures or a blackboard. As you can imagine, Lorenzo would love nothing more than to use that weapon on you."
"I bet," the Dire Wolf retorted. "But if that what what you wanted, you wouldn't have gone through all the trouble of setting up your equipment in this room. That took time and care. So what's on your mind?"
The answer came after a long moment of reluctance. "I.. I am dying. The nutrients are less effective every day. I can feel my tissue deteriorating. Mr Bane, I wish to surrender. Take me to the Mandate or 21 Black. No one else could possibly be able to help me."
"Well. That's unexpected." The Dire Wolf was still watching Lorenzo's gunhand rather than Sarah Bellum. He took a step closer to the apparatus. "But I think it's more appealing than a fight. Lorenzo there is too strong for me to take any chances with, I'd have to kill him and you would probably get caught in the crossfire as well. All right. But I have a suggestion. Let me take you to the Trom. I have a connection. The Trom are more humane and more advanced than either the Mandate or 21 Black. You and Lorenzo would be treated much better by them."
"Yes.. Yes, you have a point," said the voice from the speakers. "It will mean being experimented on, never being freed but at least I would still be alive."
At that, much faster than anyone had expected, the Chimp plunged forward and wrapped his free arm around Ambrose Schnorrer's neck, pointing the gun directly at Bane with his other paw. Lorenzo was immensely strong, his hammerlock on Ambrose could not have been broken by three men pulling on that hairy arm.
With remarkable poise considering the situation, Bane said, "I don't think he likes your plan, Sarah."
"Lorenzo! Release him, that is an ORDER!" Although the mechanical voice was louder, no urgency or anger showed in the even computer-generated tones.
The Dire Wolf had frozen in place and did not move now. Fast as he was, he could not prevent the human-brained beast from breaking Ambrose's neck or from firing all the slugs in that gun. "You kind of took him for granted. Lorenzo's not dying. He doesn't want to spend the rest of his life as a lab specimen. I think you should have cleared this plan with him first."
The ape shifted its weight, tightened its grip until Ambrose gasped, but made no further move.
Trying to stall, looking for an opening, Bane asked, "So, what do you think is going to happen, Lorenzo? You want to be dropped on a remote South Pacific island? You honestly don't have many options open."
No one expected the door behind them to open. Milton strode in, holding an open flat cardboard box in both hands. "Hey, you guys order a pizza...?"
Acting as if he had rehearsed this hundreds of times, the Dire Wolf slapped the box up from Milton's grasp so that the pizza smacked Lorenzo right in the muzzle. Hot grease and gooey cheese stuck in the ape's eyes. Involuntarily, he released Ambrose to try to clear his vision and, as much in panic as in anger, fired twice. In the split-second between the two shots, Bane had drawn and fired himself. A heavy .38 bullet punched through the center of Lorenzo's face and exited out the back of his conical skull in a spray of gruesome fragments.
Milton Schnorrer stood just inside the door and made incoherent noises as he could not process the information.
"Ambrose! Check the bar and don't let anyone in here!" Bane snapped with the tone of command. The investigator numbly obeyed, rubbing his throat as if surprised to find himself alive. After taking a long look, he closed the door and said, "No one's even coming this way. That ginger is up dancing on one of the tables and they're all cheering."
"Good. Milton, you'll have to go out there in a minute and announce you're closing early. Tell them you got a phone call someone is sick or something." The Dire Wolf satisfied himself that Lorenzo was dead before holstering his revolver. Then he saw the greenish liquid spreading out on the floor. He turned to find that the Chimp's wild shots had shattered the glass of the tank and blown off the top half of the preserved brain. He had to assume that Sarah Bellum was already dead. Even if he had wanted to, Bane had no way to help.
Turning back to the two civilians, he found that Milton was staring google-eyed at the surreal scene. The man managed to say what sounded like "Homma.. homina..." but that as close to words as he could get.
Bane gripped Milton by the arms, made eye contact and slowly said, "It's okay. It's all over. I'll explain in a little bit." To Ambrose, who was only a bit less traumatized, he said, "We're going to have to chase everyone out and close the bar. I'll contact the FBI's Department 21 Black and they'll clean up this room so thoroughly it'll look like nothing happened."
Milton's eyes had come back into focus. "That's a monkey. It had a gun. You shot it."
"Yes, I had to," Bane said in as soothing a tone as he could manage. "Take a deep breath, buddy. It's all over. Come on, we have to close HE'S-NOT-HERE early tonight."
"And what is that mess on the floor?" Milton asked as his voice cracked, then came closer to normal. "It kinda looks like a giant piece of raw liver."
Bane looked back at the debris. "Hmm. You could say it was a medical experiment that went wrong. It was a good thing you came in here when you did, Milton. What was with the pizza?"
"Oh. Nobody knew who ordered it. I thought it might be you guys back here." He stared in horrified fascination at the blood corpse of the Chimp. "I never expected that I would hit a monkey in the face with that pie."
2/18/2020
2/16/2020
I.
Five hours of steady if unhurried drinking had not produced any measurable effect on Bane. The Dire Wolf had started with draft beer and then switched to vodka and lime juice around midnight, but he might as well have been ordering club soda for all it mattered. Decades on a Tagra diet had boosted his healing properties to the point where alcohol was ignored by his body and simply passed through in his urine. For that matter, enemies had tried to outright poison him several times with no consquences other than mild discomfort for a few minutes. The Tagra diet enabled Bane and other Tel Shai knights like him to recover from physical damage almost instantly. They weren't literally indestructible, of course; trauma severe and sudden enough would kill them as certainly as it would everyone else but they survived an amazing amount of injury with impunity.
The Tagra regimen was another reason why, at sixty-three, Bane seemed to be a trim, athletic man no more than forty. The short black hair was sprinkled with white flecks and there were crow's-feet lines at the corners of the pale grey eyes, but otherwise the Dire Wolf hardly seemed near middle age.
Bane was observing that the HE'S-NOT-HERE was a strange establishment in many ways. The most conspicious oddity was the glass panel which ran the length of the wall, behind which a small lion cub wandered back and forth. The little beast seemed genuinely curious about the patrons of the bar, often watching their actions closely and sometimes tapping on the glass with a paw for attention. To everyone's great delight, the cub reacted to fast songs on the jukebox by swaying and hopping in a manner that nearly qualified as dancing. Even the humorless Bane had to smile at that.
Every now then, Milton the bartender slid open a section of the glass and scratched the lion cub behind the ears or rubbed under its chin exactly as one would treat a regular kitten. "You're on best behavior, Bubba," he said, "I love ya and give you a big kiss." Milton was a short man about forty, wearing white slacks and a black V-neck sweater over a white shirt with a red bow tie. He wasn't handsome but he had a likeable honest face. The smooth way he moved from one customer to the next, keeping the drinks coming and chatting just enough put everyone at ease. "Lenny, you all set?" he was saying. "Cheer up, you're still young and as long as you got your health..."
Bane could see how this place would be popular. He wished a bit sadly that he was able to frequent neighborhood bars just for the socializing but of course his business tonight inevitably involved chasing murderers. The dark shadowy world of the Midnight War was all he knew. Even though he had officially retired, right now he still had the silver daggers strapped to his forearms under his jacket sleeves and the .38 Smith & Wesson revolver was holstered behind his left hip.
A huge open-framework bronze clock on the wall indicated it was one-thirty AM. By now, most of the regulars here had been loosened enough by their drinks that their consciousness was getting a bit skewed. Still sharp and clear, though, Bane noticed some of the peculiar things going on. At one point, spotting movement from the corner of his eye, he caught the moment when the name plates on the adjoining doors of the bathrooms flipped so that the MEN'S sign now read WOMEN'S and vice versa. That was likely to cause some confusion. The Dire Wolf also was certain that the bar stools fixed to the floor were very slowly being raised or lowered an inch or two... enough to be mildly disorienting.
The bartender caught Bane's attention with a gleeful grin, giving an obvious wink. Milton had realized Bane was catching on, and he let the Dire Wolf know that they were both in on the prankish tricks of the HE'S-NOT-HERE. Most of the patrons were working through perceptions fuzzy enough that they felt something odd was going on but couldn't quite figure out the details. Faint scratching noises could be heard under the floor at intervals, adding to the general bemusement.
The jukebox began blaring out an energetic if odius rap song, "I Could Bust Ya Choker." Not only did the lion cub start bobbing up and down to the beat, but a young redheaded woman leaped up and began dancing. Between her waist-length hair and spectacular figure in beige yoga pants and a white T-shirt cut off at the rib cage, she seized everyone's attention. Except Bane's. He caught the bartender swapping his clip-on red bow tie for a larger green one. To his own surprise, Bane was enjoying the mild befuddlement on the faces of the bar-goers as these tiny changes started to puzzle them. He didn't see where it was doing any harm and it gave the crowd something to ponder.
A gust of freezing air swept in as the door opened and closed to admit a man in a tightly belted trench coat with the collar up and a soft felt fedora pulled low over his face. He resembled Milton closely. Bane knew that this must be insurance investigator Ambrose Schnorrer. That meant that the two Midnight War threats whom the Dire Wolf had been tracking were nearby. Any amusement he had been allowing himself dropped away. Back to business as usual.
II.
Not many gave more than a glance to the newcomer, as the red-haired girl was at this point moving along the row of men at the bar and trying to cajole someone into dancing with her. A remarkably fat old man with a white billy-goat beard accepted her offer. He took her by the hand and attempted a sort of Tango that made the place erupt with joy. The applause and shouts of encouragement drowned out the jukebox.
Ambrose claimed an empty stool at the far end of the bar and Bane went over to join him. The investigator tilted his fedora back on his head and smiled faintly. "Glad you could make it, Jeremy."
"You're dealing with some dangerous people," Bane replied. "I hope you've been careful. Don't let her stupid name mislead you, Sarah Bellum has filled half a cemetery in the past few years."
Milton the bartender sauntered over with an open bottle of Corona beer and a glass. "Here you go, junior."
That made Ambrose snort. "Milton is seven months and eight days older than me, I was premature. He claims we're as close to twins as you can get without having the same birthday."
"Talk to you later," the bartender said. "Looks like Rachel's starting to hitch up her shirt and I better stop her before the joint gets busted."
As Ambrose poured out some beer with great deliberation, Bane gave the room a suspicious survey. A lifetime spent fighting have given him deep-rooted wariness of his surroundings. He noticed a faint but distinctly reddish tinge was in the lighting that hadn't been there before and he mentioned it.
"Feh, that's Milton all right. What a crazy mixed-up kid. He's blown half his profits on gimmicks for this bar. I'm sure you've noticed the stools getting higher and lower."
"And the bathroom signs," Bane said. "This is all his sense of humor?"
"Yep. Sometimes he releases dry ice fumes in the parking lot to make it look spooky. The monkey business works, I guess, people keep coming here despite his prices." The investigator took a healthy swig and placed the glass down on a paper coaster. "Anyway, this is where my err client wanted to meet you."
The Dire Wolf had brought his own glass with him, even though it held little except ice cubes at this point. "What does she want, Ambrose? You know you can't trust her or her friend with the fur."
"Yeah, Lorenzo took some getting used to. Sarah Bellum's other employee isn't much more presentable. But they're in the back room where the poker games are sometimes held, waiting on you."
Bane frowned more than usual. "Does your brother know about this?"
"Nah, he thinks we're just meeting some shady underworld types," Ambrose said, pouring himself the remainder of the beer. "Smugglers or numbers runners, something like that. I'm nervous, have to admit it. Somehow she heard that I knew you a little bit... we did work together last year on that Three Hunchbacks mess... and she figured you'd trust me enough to come here. Let me tell you, dealing with her gives me the willies big time."
"Not your usual client," the Dire Wolf admitted.
"Hell no. I'm not used to talking to a brain floating in a fish tank...!"
III.
Following Ambrose, Bane enter the back room and closed the door behind them. He could feel the investigator tense up at the situation, but he himself had long ago become jaded by the fantastic. The far end of the room had an exit door, with crates of beer and liquor bottles piled on either side. A green metal filing cabinet and some open shelves crammed with loose papers evidently served Milton Schnorrer as an office. But the round table where poker was played some nights had been pushed aside to make room for a bizarre apparatus.
It was not literally a fish tank as Ambrose had described it, but a rectangular glass container five feet high and three feet wide. Aeration bubbles stirred a thick greenish liquid in which sat what had once been a human brain. The monstrous organ was larger than it had been two years earlier. Instead of the classic walnut-halves structure, the brain had a half dozen irregular lobes growing out of it but their texture was rough and the surface was an unhealthy dark maroon color. The horrifying object rested in a shallow depression atop what looked like a platform holding diagnostic equipment. Five thin cords ran from that platform to leads which were glued to the brain's surface. The whole set-up was plugged into two wall outlets.
On top of the tank was an array of speakers, microphones and cameras. A pleasant contralto voice spoke, female and smooth, "I am sorry that we meet again under such circumstances, Mr Bane."
"You mean, where I'm not a helpless prisoner you're about to torture? That's okay with me. You've looked better, Sarah Bellum." The Dire Wolf nodded toward the dark figure which stirred behind the equipment. "And for a Chimp with a human brain, you seem to be doing okay, Lorenzo."
The ape growled angrily. His forehead showed a thick ridge of scar tissue that ran into the jet-black fur. In one paw was a 9mm semi-automatic pistol that had its trigger guard sawed off so that his thick finger could use it.
"My friend still cannot speak," came the voice from the apparatus. "He simply does not have the anatomy for it. He communicates with me through gestures or a blackboard. As you can imagine, Lorenzo would love nothing more than to use that weapon on you."
"I bet," the Dire Wolf retorted. "But if that what what you wanted, you wouldn't have gone through all the trouble of setting up your equipment in this room. That took time and care. So what's on your mind?"
The answer came after a long moment of reluctance. "I.. I am dying. The nutrients are less effective every day. I can feel my tissue deteriorating. Mr Bane, I wish to surrender. Take me to the Mandate or 21 Black. No one else could possibly be able to help me."
"Well. That's unexpected." The Dire Wolf was still watching Lorenzo's gunhand rather than Sarah Bellum. He took a step closer to the apparatus. "But I think it's more appealing than a fight. Lorenzo there is too strong for me to take any chances with, I'd have to kill him and you would probably get caught in the crossfire as well. All right. But I have a suggestion. Let me take you to the Trom. I have a connection. The Trom are more humane and more advanced than either the Mandate or 21 Black. You and Lorenzo would be treated much better by them."
"Yes.. Yes, you have a point," said the voice from the speakers. "It will mean being experimented on, never being freed but at least I would still be alive."
At that, much faster than anyone had expected, the Chimp plunged forward and wrapped his free arm around Ambrose Schnorrer's neck, pointing the gun directly at Bane with his other paw. Lorenzo was immensely strong, his hammerlock on Ambrose could not have been broken by three men pulling on that hairy arm.
With remarkable poise considering the situation, Bane said, "I don't think he likes your plan, Sarah."
"Lorenzo! Release him, that is an ORDER!" Although the mechanical voice was louder, no urgency or anger showed in the even computer-generated tones.
The Dire Wolf had frozen in place and did not move now. Fast as he was, he could not prevent the human-brained beast from breaking Ambrose's neck or from firing all the slugs in that gun. "You kind of took him for granted. Lorenzo's not dying. He doesn't want to spend the rest of his life as a lab specimen. I think you should have cleared this plan with him first."
The ape shifted its weight, tightened its grip until Ambrose gasped, but made no further move.
Trying to stall, looking for an opening, Bane asked, "So, what do you think is going to happen, Lorenzo? You want to be dropped on a remote South Pacific island? You honestly don't have many options open."
No one expected the door behind them to open. Milton strode in, holding an open flat cardboard box in both hands. "Hey, you guys order a pizza...?"
Acting as if he had rehearsed this hundreds of times, the Dire Wolf slapped the box up from Milton's grasp so that the pizza smacked Lorenzo right in the muzzle. Hot grease and gooey cheese stuck in the ape's eyes. Involuntarily, he released Ambrose to try to clear his vision and, as much in panic as in anger, fired twice. In the split-second between the two shots, Bane had drawn and fired himself. A heavy .38 bullet punched through the center of Lorenzo's face and exited out the back of his conical skull in a spray of gruesome fragments.
Milton Schnorrer stood just inside the door and made incoherent noises as he could not process the information.
"Ambrose! Check the bar and don't let anyone in here!" Bane snapped with the tone of command. The investigator numbly obeyed, rubbing his throat as if surprised to find himself alive. After taking a long look, he closed the door and said, "No one's even coming this way. That ginger is up dancing on one of the tables and they're all cheering."
"Good. Milton, you'll have to go out there in a minute and announce you're closing early. Tell them you got a phone call someone is sick or something." The Dire Wolf satisfied himself that Lorenzo was dead before holstering his revolver. Then he saw the greenish liquid spreading out on the floor. He turned to find that the Chimp's wild shots had shattered the glass of the tank and blown off the top half of the preserved brain. He had to assume that Sarah Bellum was already dead. Even if he had wanted to, Bane had no way to help.
Turning back to the two civilians, he found that Milton was staring google-eyed at the surreal scene. The man managed to say what sounded like "Homma.. homina..." but that as close to words as he could get.
Bane gripped Milton by the arms, made eye contact and slowly said, "It's okay. It's all over. I'll explain in a little bit." To Ambrose, who was only a bit less traumatized, he said, "We're going to have to chase everyone out and close the bar. I'll contact the FBI's Department 21 Black and they'll clean up this room so thoroughly it'll look like nothing happened."
Milton's eyes had come back into focus. "That's a monkey. It had a gun. You shot it."
"Yes, I had to," Bane said in as soothing a tone as he could manage. "Take a deep breath, buddy. It's all over. Come on, we have to close HE'S-NOT-HERE early tonight."
"And what is that mess on the floor?" Milton asked as his voice cracked, then came closer to normal. "It kinda looks like a giant piece of raw liver."
Bane looked back at the debris. "Hmm. You could say it was a medical experiment that went wrong. It was a good thing you came in here when you did, Milton. What was with the pizza?"
"Oh. Nobody knew who ordered it. I thought it might be you guys back here." He stared in horrified fascination at the blood corpse of the Chimp. "I never expected that I would hit a monkey in the face with that pie."
2/18/2020
