"Timothy Limbo and His Friendly Ghosts"
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dochermes"Timothy Limbo and His Friendly Ghosts"
12/22/2012
I.
It was getting dark when Bane found a parking spot on 17th Street. A stiff wind was blowing from the river but there had been no snow so far this winter. He locked his dark red Mustang and looked around warily, turning up the collar of his long black coat. Bane wore thin leather gloves but no hat and the wind ruffled his hair. Now in his mid-fifties, he was showing a few grey strands here and there, but his narrow face remained unlined and his age would be hard to guess. The cold grey eyes still glared out at the world with innate suspicion. The message on his phone had only been two words, "Gramercy Booth." Bane hated cloak and dagger sneaking around, but curiosity was one of his strongest traits.
The streets were oddly almost empty, although Christmas shopping season was in full blast. Maybe the crowds were taking a breather before swarming out again. The Dire wolf entered Gramercy Park and found the statue of Edwin Booth. He had seen it before; there weren't many parts of Manhattan he hadn't explored as a street kid. This was an actor who had been the brother of John Wilkes Booth. As he approached, a woman put out her cigarette and turned around to face him.
She looked different from the last time they had met. Her dark red hair was very short now and she had started wearing lipstick, but the freckles and the startling blue eyes were the same. She was bundled up in a down-filled coat and scarf and wool hat, and as she ditched her cigarette, she tugged her white gloves back on. "That was quick. I expected you might have to think it over for a while."
"Hello, Signet. I wasn't doing anything tonight, so I figured why not."
She stepped closer. "I had nothing to do with that last bit of business, you know."
"Fair enough," Bane said. "The Mandate and I have to live in the same world but we don't pretend to like each other. Let's be as honest as you can be with spies. There are times when I can be useful to your bosses... a loose cannon they can aim at something they're unable or unwilling to tackle themselves.".
"Ah, Jeremy. You refuse more requests than you accept, I hear."
"They know that. If I agree with their targeting, I'll go along. If not, too bad. They have tried to eliminate me in the past, you know." He was still scanning the area suspiciously. "What's the scam tonight?"
The woman called Signet was watching him thoughtfully, "My organization is concerned with the safety of this nation and its people."
"They're spies, Signet. A certain amount of deceit and deception goes with the job. Never mind that now. Who do they want me to handle for them?'
She moved in so closely she was almost whispering in his ear. "Major Buchinsky. A rogue Russian."
"What, the KGB again?"
"No, he was actually from Army Security forces. He went renegade last year. Somehow he has a small army all his own he stations around the world. He does a lot of dirty work. Kidnapping, interrogation, extortion. We believe he is in the metropolitan area."
"That makes him of interest to me. I think I want to meet him, got a description?"
"Six foot one, two hundred and fifty pounds. Black hair, brown eyes. Usually wears a mustache, sometimes glasses. Heavy accent. Will you take care of him?"
"You mean, will I kill him for you?" Bane said. "I'm not your assassin. I answer to myself." He started to turn away, but she touched his arm.
"One more thing, a name. Timothy Limbo."
Bane said nothing and she went on, "Do you know him? Buchinski seems interested in someone of that name."
"Wish I could help," said the Dire Wolf, turning on his heel and walking away. "Maybe I'll investigate."
As Signet watched him leave, she did not notice a vague, almost invisible wisp in the air next to her. It could have been smoke or fog, but it swirled near her and stayed with her as she headed to the next street over. The woman opened her car door with a beep from her key fob and got in, not seeing the wisp float in behind her. As she started up the neat little Audi, pulling out into traffic and heading north, the vague form hovered behind her head.
II.
Parking in the garage under a rather classy apartment building on the Upper West Side, Signet rode the elevator up to the fourteenth floor. She emerged in a corridor with carpeted floors and wall lights shaped like torches, high windows discreetly curtained. There, standing with folded arms, was a young man in a black leather jacket, faded jeans and motorcycle boots. Despite all her training at hiding reactions, she flinched visibly. "Timothy Limbo...?"
"In the flesh, lady. Did you want to meet me?"
"But...how? I don't understand?"
"Aw, let's not get into that now," Limbo said. He was not a tall kid, well under six feet and wiry, with a mop of yellow hair over an insolent face. "Cut to the chase! Life is short."
Signet caught herself and regained her composure. "Yes. Of course. Won't you come in?" she asked as she unlocked the door to apartment 14A. She turned on the lights and led him into a suite that seemed all chrome and glass and white fur. It was cold inside and the decor made it seem colder.
Tim Limbo said, "Check it out, there's bucks here." She offered him a drink, which he declined. "I'm all business, lady. What do you want with me?"
"I want to warn you. You're in danger. A man named Buchinsky is looking for you. He seems to think you have information he can use."
"And why do you care what happens to me?"
Signet flared up with sudden heat. "I don't. It's about him. I thought I loved him. I thought we had something special but he- I was just one in a long row of conquests for him." She shivered. "Yes, my pride is hurt. He broke my heart and I thought that could never happen. If you can bring him down, I'd be happy for my own sake but he deserves it."
"What does he do that he deserves it?" Tim asked.
"He's a career criminal. He's done everything." She mixed herself a drink and sipped it, then took a long swallow. "Bastard."
Timothy Limbo grinned and went over to stare out the window down at Central Park. "Where can I find this awful person?"
"He's hiding in an auto repair shop on 212th Street. He has some of his men with him, and they are sure to be armed."
"Are you setting me up by any chance? No, don't answer. It doesn't really matter." The young man headed for the door. "You can explain why if I have to come back for you."
Limbo hurried down the hall, thumbed the elevator button and waited. Another tiny wisp of barely visible haze hovered near his head and he gazed at it. "Yeah, that's what I think," he told the little cloud.
Down on the street, he headed over two blocks to where his old rusty Buick was parked. One of the little wisps was swirling near it and he motioned it to get in the car as he opened the door. There was a lot to think about, mostly how was he going to make a buck off this? She hadn't set his fee. He headed north, not in any hurry. As he got near the address the woman had given, he looked for a place to leave his car and found a spot on a side street. Before he got out, Limbo took his Smith & Wesson from the shoulder holster and examined it before stowing it away again. He wore a plain white T-shirt under the leather jacket and carried no other weapons. Locking his car, he approached 212th Street and saw a darkened building with a sign on a post that read BISHOP AUTO REPAIR - ALL MAKES ALL MODELS. A car without wheels was up on concrete blocks in the tiny parking lot.
Timothy Limbo stood for a moment, head cocked as if listening. Then he trotted across the street and toward the back of the building where a few barrels and some debris were stored. A big man with a beard straightened up as he saw Limbo rushing at him. Something strange happened to the thug. He swatted in front of his eyes and seemed distracted, which was all the opening Limbo needed. Taking the revolver from inside his jacket, Limbo smacked the man on top of the head as hard as he possibly could. It sounded like a hammer hitting a coconut, and the man fell to his knees and then over onto his face. Limbo examined him with some concern, as that blow could easily have been fatal.
Going to the rear door, which said EMPLOYEES ONLY and which had a battered garbage barrel next to it, Limbo paused. A clicking sounded from the other side of the door and this seemed to be his cue to open it. He was in a short narrow hall with a door that said MEN on it. Ahead was a darkened area that had been the office cubicle and a stout man in a fur coat turned as he heard Limbo enter. Again, something seemed to flutter in front of his eyes and he swatted at it but, unfortunately for Limbo, there was another thug in that area and he was not affected. Limbo swung with the gun, missed, and took a fist to the stomach that doubled him up. The thug wrestled the gun away and got the young man down with a knee to the chest that made it hard to breathe. The other man pitched in and brought some clothesline. After a few frenzied minutes, they had him down on his face with his wrists tied to his ankles.
The door opened and Limbo looked up to see a newcomer, a wide man in bulky clothing, with a black handlebar mustache in an expressionless face. Major Buchinski.
III.
In his office in a four-story building on 44th Street and 3rd Avenue, Bane got up and stretched. An hour of phone calls had given him little to work with. over the years, he had built up a network of watchers for unexplained phenomena but sometimes they were dry. He went over and started straightening the mess of random papers on top of the bookcase while he mulled things over. He had in fact heard of Timothy Limbo, despite his non-commital answer to Signet. The guy's real last name was Lambert, he was from Ohio. For the past two years, he had been making a living getting information where no one else could. He retrieved stolen objects, found missing persons and did some spying. All for stiff fees. No one knew how he did all this. When asked his methods, he had said, "If I told people how, everyone would do it and I'd have to get a job."
So far, he and Bane had not crossed paths. The Midnight War had many colorful characters like Tim Limbo, interesting people who were no threat to the public and therefore no any of Bane's immediate concern.
From the corner of his eye, the Dire Wolf saw movement and he whirled about, dropping into a crouch with his hand jumping to the gun holstered behind one hip. His laptop sat on a corner of his desk, where he had it charging. As he watched, the lid rose by itself.
Bane felt his hair stand up and his skin go cold. He was in the presence of something uncanny, something he could not explain. Cautiously, he took a step closer as the screen lit up. What was that foggy spot near the laptop? The office was brightly lit, with five lamps all on at the moment and he saw something like a tiny wisp of smoke near his computer. No, there were two of them. Bane did not feel fear so much as curiosity as he approached. NOTEPAD was on the screen and as he watched in amazement, symbols appeared. 212 STREET GARAGE HURRY! The two small clouds circled the laptop as if to get his attention.
Still watching the laptop, the Dire Wolf turned off the reading lamp next to it. He got his coat from the hook on the door and pulled it on, taking gloves from its pockets and tugging them on. He went over to the couch and turned off the lamps on either side of it, then got the stand-up lamp in the corner. Now there was just the overhead dome still lit. In its downward illumination, he saw the wisps more clearly. They looked like puffs of cigarette smoke but more clear than white. They rose together and drifted over toward the door, waiting for him.
"Okay," he said out loud. "Now this is just plain creepy." He turned off the overhead light and left the office into the tiny waiting room. This held only two chairs and a table with newspapers and magazines, he crossed it with two steps and was out in the hall. As he closed the door to his office behind him, it locked automatically. Now he could not see the wisps. Bane hurried through the lobby and turned left once on the street, breaking into a run. At 40th Street, he rushed into the Imperial Garage and headed for his assigned spot. The green and blue lights over the rearview mirror of his Mustang showed no one had tampered with it. In another few seconds, he was pulling into traffic and heading north. At a red light, he turned around and looked inside the car and, sure enough, a few of those little wisps were floating in mid-air. Up close, he could see they were shaped like tornadoes, tapering down to a point. As he got used to the idea, the Dire Wolf found he was actually starting to feel friendly toward them. They did not seem hostile but more like.... pets?
At 211th Street, he pulled over and turned off the car. The next block up, he had spotted an auto repair shop that seemed to have been closed for some time but which had a black Ford Ranger parked next to it. Bane got out. This time of year, it was dark by five-thirty and, being dressed all in black, he was just a vague shadow in the gloom. The nearest streetlamp was at the end of the block and the building next to the garage was a print shop that also seemed vacant. Bane eased up around the print shop, watching for signs of movement. The door at the rear of the garage opened, showing dim light from within, as if someone held a flashlight.
Two men stepped outside and obviously were checking out the terrain. One went back in and the other walked over to stand besiide the Ford. Bane crept up, stealthy by nature and training, getting behind the man. A car went by with loud music thumping from it and, as the sentry's head turned to follow that car, Bane stepped up behind the man and his stiff open hand smacked down hard where neck joins shoulder. There was a snapping noise. The man sagged and would have fallen but Bane caught him under the armpits and hauled him around to the other side of the SUV, out of sight from within the garage.
Propping the man up against the vehicle, the Dire Wolf searched through the thug's pockets with his free hand. A switchblade, a .38 snubnosed revolver, a sock full of sand. Honestly, he thought as he dropped the knife and gun in his own pockets and poured the sand out onto the sidewalk. There was no wallet, no ID. In the shirt pocket, though, was a bundle of Euros and two twenty-dollar American bills. Bane checked out the scarred knuckles and flat nose and decided this guy was no poet. The SUV was unlocked, so he shoved the limp snoring man inside the back seat. As he closed the door, he heard a voice call softly, "Pavel? Pavel, you drunken fool, where are you?"
Another man was coming around the side of the Ford Ranger. Thanks for being so helpful, Bane thought. As the thug appeared, the Dire Wolf seized him by the front of his coat and pulled him violently into an elbow right between the eyes. The man's head swayed back as far as it could. He would be out for a while. As he was getting this one into the front seat of the Ford, he heard more feet scraping from the direction of the garage. Dropping to the cold ground, he rolled underneath the car as two men reached it.
They were speaking Russian. He could see their feet as they seemed to be peering inside the vehicle. Bane slid out on the other side of the SUV and whipped around behind them. Both were holding pistols and he could not afford to be stealthy. The Dire Wolf came in faster than any normal Human could match, slamming one thug into the other, tangling them up. He lashed out a vicious left hook that caught one in the face and the backfist with the same hand cracked the other on the side of the neck. They were taken off guard, softened but not down. Bane hit the nearer one in the solar plexus with an elbow, driving all the blood out and dropping the man. The other one starting to raise his gun just as a steel-capped boot caught him on the side of the head and spun him completely around. Bane lowered his leg. A taxi slowed down as it passed but sped right up again and went through a stop sign without pausing.
Now he had four unconscious men to deal with. Bane threw them all in together on top of each other. Their comfort was not his concern. Hastily going through their pockets, he found two more pistols and a set of keys that fit the Ford. Bane locked the door and closed it, jamming the key in the lock and snapping it off. He had four pistols in his hands, as well as the swichblade and another knife. All of these he dropped in a litter bin by the sidewalk.
You couldn't ask for an easier fight so far, he thought. These guys were big and tough but not professional at all. One should have covered the others from an angle.
The front door of the auto repair shop creaked open. Bane leaped toward the rear door and plunged inside. The only person in there now was a young man in his early twenties, hogtied on the floor. The Dire Wolf crouched, whipped out one of his silver daggers from beneath his sleeve and sliced easily through the clothesline. "I'm going to guess you're Timothy Limbo, right?"
"That's me," the man said, rolling over and sitting up. "I see my caspers got the message to you."
"Caspers..? What, those little puffs of smoke?" Bane peered around the dim interior, lit only by the wide picture window in the front of the shop. He didn't see any ghosts. "Here, can you get up?"
Limbo sat up, rubbing his wrists painfully as the lights went on. Looming up behind them was the bulky shape of Major Buchinsky. He had a pearl-handled .32 automatic aimed right at Bane's head.
"Please not to move," he grated in a rasping voice.
"Oh, knock it off with the accent and the fake voice," Bane said. "I know it's you, Signet."
For one second, the gun wavered and then straightened again. "You will be coming with me-"
"No one's going anywhere," said Bane calmly. "That's a real lady's gun for such a big macho guy. Good mask. Quality material clued to the face so it moves naturally. The mustache looks like real human hair. But you don't move like a man weighing two hundred and sixty, you move like a woman weighing one hundred and twenty and wearing padded clothing."
"He's a lady?" Limbo asked. "Yeah, I see it. Now that you mention it, it's obvious."
Buchinsky extended the arm that held the automatic and closed one eye. Then three vague shapes spun around his head, like clouds driven by wind. He cursed and swatted at them involuntarily and in that instant, it was all over. Jeremy Bane closed the distance in a fencer's lunge, grasping the gunhand and yanking the weapon away with a suddenness that broke the trigger finger. Buchinsky gasped in pain and surprise. With one foot, Bane kicked the Major's feet out from under and the killer fell to a seated position with a thump.
"Thanks for the caspers," the Dire Wolf said to Limbo. "Nice distraction."
As he got up, Timothy Limbo grinned and tugged his leather jacket down. "Even when someone knows about them, they're hard to ignore. There's a strong instinct to get things away from your eyes."
Bane tucked the pearl-handed automatic in his own side pocket and sheathed the dagger under his sleeve again. "Time to wrap this up." He bent and seized Buchinsky's face near the collar, tugging it sharply upward. "No! Stop! It's clued on," the Major screamed but Bane did not listen. A little bit of skin came with the mask and some hair was pulled out, but Bane was relentless.
A furious, white-faced Signet was seated on the floor. She glared up venomously.
The Dire Wolf said to Limbo, "This woman is a field agent for a government agency called the Mandate. They're a shady bunch, their agenda is to keep tabs on people with unusual abilities. Like you, and like me."
"So... what were they going to do with me?"
"Study. Experiment. See if they could duplicate your skills." Bane sighed. "There is no use turning her over to the police, the Mandate will just come and claim her in the name of national security. No, I'm afraid she has to disappear and never be heard from again."
"You wouldn't dare..."
"Of course I would. Be serious, Signet. I'm sure you've read the file on me. How many times did I go after someone who just vanished off the face of the earth?"
"That's true... but, Jeremy, no! Don't kill me. I was just acting on instructions."
"Hold on, you can't simply bury her out in the woods somewhere," Limbo interrupted.
"I can do better than that," Bane said calmly."There will not be enough left for anyone to identify. It's the only way to get the Mandate to leave us alone."
The woman called Signet got to her knees and stood up, a bizarre figure with her small head sticking up from the bulky disguise. "We can make a deal, I know we can. I will do anything you want. Right here, right now. Or I can arrange payments. How much money would come in handy, cash in unmarked small bills, say fifty thousand dollars?"
"That's where our tax money goes?" Bane asked. "No, Signet, I think the Mandate needs a warning. Limbo, look the other way, you don't want to watch this..."
"I can order my department to leave you alone. Yes. I am assistant director, there is only one person above me in the department that handles special ability investigation. I swear it, you will never hear from the Mandate again."
The Dire Wolf stayed deadpan. "I know how much your word is worth. But... Killing women always bothers me. I feel guilty for a few days. All right, we'll give it a chance. But if Limbo or I are ever bothered by your department, you'll become a missing person." He turned to the horrified Limbo. "We need to go. She'll call a clean-up squad to come get her and her goons."
"If you say so," Timothy Limbo muttered. He followed Bane outside. The wind was howling now, the temperature had dropped five degrees. They headed toward where their cars were parked, by coincidence not far from each other.
"I want to thank you for the rescue," Limbo said. "Usually I can get out of tight spots by myself but I thought I was going to end up shanghaied to Russia and that would be a drag. I know who you are. We work in related fields."
Bane gestured toward his Mustang. "What do you say to spending some time in a diner talking? I would like to know more about those little helpers of yours. Are they conscious? Do they have minds of their own or are they just projections of your mind?"
"Damned if I know," Limbo said. "I can't figure them out. They just started turning up a few years ago and I've gotten used to them. Listen, Mr Bane, I have to know. You were bluffing back there, right? You wanted to scare her, that's why you threatened to make her disappear but it actually was a bluff. Right?"
Bane glared back over his shoulder at the auto repair shop. "Let's hope she doesn't come back to find out."
4/22/2013
12/22/2012
I.
It was getting dark when Bane found a parking spot on 17th Street. A stiff wind was blowing from the river but there had been no snow so far this winter. He locked his dark red Mustang and looked around warily, turning up the collar of his long black coat. Bane wore thin leather gloves but no hat and the wind ruffled his hair. Now in his mid-fifties, he was showing a few grey strands here and there, but his narrow face remained unlined and his age would be hard to guess. The cold grey eyes still glared out at the world with innate suspicion. The message on his phone had only been two words, "Gramercy Booth." Bane hated cloak and dagger sneaking around, but curiosity was one of his strongest traits.
The streets were oddly almost empty, although Christmas shopping season was in full blast. Maybe the crowds were taking a breather before swarming out again. The Dire wolf entered Gramercy Park and found the statue of Edwin Booth. He had seen it before; there weren't many parts of Manhattan he hadn't explored as a street kid. This was an actor who had been the brother of John Wilkes Booth. As he approached, a woman put out her cigarette and turned around to face him.
She looked different from the last time they had met. Her dark red hair was very short now and she had started wearing lipstick, but the freckles and the startling blue eyes were the same. She was bundled up in a down-filled coat and scarf and wool hat, and as she ditched her cigarette, she tugged her white gloves back on. "That was quick. I expected you might have to think it over for a while."
"Hello, Signet. I wasn't doing anything tonight, so I figured why not."
She stepped closer. "I had nothing to do with that last bit of business, you know."
"Fair enough," Bane said. "The Mandate and I have to live in the same world but we don't pretend to like each other. Let's be as honest as you can be with spies. There are times when I can be useful to your bosses... a loose cannon they can aim at something they're unable or unwilling to tackle themselves.".
"Ah, Jeremy. You refuse more requests than you accept, I hear."
"They know that. If I agree with their targeting, I'll go along. If not, too bad. They have tried to eliminate me in the past, you know." He was still scanning the area suspiciously. "What's the scam tonight?"
The woman called Signet was watching him thoughtfully, "My organization is concerned with the safety of this nation and its people."
"They're spies, Signet. A certain amount of deceit and deception goes with the job. Never mind that now. Who do they want me to handle for them?'
She moved in so closely she was almost whispering in his ear. "Major Buchinsky. A rogue Russian."
"What, the KGB again?"
"No, he was actually from Army Security forces. He went renegade last year. Somehow he has a small army all his own he stations around the world. He does a lot of dirty work. Kidnapping, interrogation, extortion. We believe he is in the metropolitan area."
"That makes him of interest to me. I think I want to meet him, got a description?"
"Six foot one, two hundred and fifty pounds. Black hair, brown eyes. Usually wears a mustache, sometimes glasses. Heavy accent. Will you take care of him?"
"You mean, will I kill him for you?" Bane said. "I'm not your assassin. I answer to myself." He started to turn away, but she touched his arm.
"One more thing, a name. Timothy Limbo."
Bane said nothing and she went on, "Do you know him? Buchinski seems interested in someone of that name."
"Wish I could help," said the Dire Wolf, turning on his heel and walking away. "Maybe I'll investigate."
As Signet watched him leave, she did not notice a vague, almost invisible wisp in the air next to her. It could have been smoke or fog, but it swirled near her and stayed with her as she headed to the next street over. The woman opened her car door with a beep from her key fob and got in, not seeing the wisp float in behind her. As she started up the neat little Audi, pulling out into traffic and heading north, the vague form hovered behind her head.
II.
Parking in the garage under a rather classy apartment building on the Upper West Side, Signet rode the elevator up to the fourteenth floor. She emerged in a corridor with carpeted floors and wall lights shaped like torches, high windows discreetly curtained. There, standing with folded arms, was a young man in a black leather jacket, faded jeans and motorcycle boots. Despite all her training at hiding reactions, she flinched visibly. "Timothy Limbo...?"
"In the flesh, lady. Did you want to meet me?"
"But...how? I don't understand?"
"Aw, let's not get into that now," Limbo said. He was not a tall kid, well under six feet and wiry, with a mop of yellow hair over an insolent face. "Cut to the chase! Life is short."
Signet caught herself and regained her composure. "Yes. Of course. Won't you come in?" she asked as she unlocked the door to apartment 14A. She turned on the lights and led him into a suite that seemed all chrome and glass and white fur. It was cold inside and the decor made it seem colder.
Tim Limbo said, "Check it out, there's bucks here." She offered him a drink, which he declined. "I'm all business, lady. What do you want with me?"
"I want to warn you. You're in danger. A man named Buchinsky is looking for you. He seems to think you have information he can use."
"And why do you care what happens to me?"
Signet flared up with sudden heat. "I don't. It's about him. I thought I loved him. I thought we had something special but he- I was just one in a long row of conquests for him." She shivered. "Yes, my pride is hurt. He broke my heart and I thought that could never happen. If you can bring him down, I'd be happy for my own sake but he deserves it."
"What does he do that he deserves it?" Tim asked.
"He's a career criminal. He's done everything." She mixed herself a drink and sipped it, then took a long swallow. "Bastard."
Timothy Limbo grinned and went over to stare out the window down at Central Park. "Where can I find this awful person?"
"He's hiding in an auto repair shop on 212th Street. He has some of his men with him, and they are sure to be armed."
"Are you setting me up by any chance? No, don't answer. It doesn't really matter." The young man headed for the door. "You can explain why if I have to come back for you."
Limbo hurried down the hall, thumbed the elevator button and waited. Another tiny wisp of barely visible haze hovered near his head and he gazed at it. "Yeah, that's what I think," he told the little cloud.
Down on the street, he headed over two blocks to where his old rusty Buick was parked. One of the little wisps was swirling near it and he motioned it to get in the car as he opened the door. There was a lot to think about, mostly how was he going to make a buck off this? She hadn't set his fee. He headed north, not in any hurry. As he got near the address the woman had given, he looked for a place to leave his car and found a spot on a side street. Before he got out, Limbo took his Smith & Wesson from the shoulder holster and examined it before stowing it away again. He wore a plain white T-shirt under the leather jacket and carried no other weapons. Locking his car, he approached 212th Street and saw a darkened building with a sign on a post that read BISHOP AUTO REPAIR - ALL MAKES ALL MODELS. A car without wheels was up on concrete blocks in the tiny parking lot.
Timothy Limbo stood for a moment, head cocked as if listening. Then he trotted across the street and toward the back of the building where a few barrels and some debris were stored. A big man with a beard straightened up as he saw Limbo rushing at him. Something strange happened to the thug. He swatted in front of his eyes and seemed distracted, which was all the opening Limbo needed. Taking the revolver from inside his jacket, Limbo smacked the man on top of the head as hard as he possibly could. It sounded like a hammer hitting a coconut, and the man fell to his knees and then over onto his face. Limbo examined him with some concern, as that blow could easily have been fatal.
Going to the rear door, which said EMPLOYEES ONLY and which had a battered garbage barrel next to it, Limbo paused. A clicking sounded from the other side of the door and this seemed to be his cue to open it. He was in a short narrow hall with a door that said MEN on it. Ahead was a darkened area that had been the office cubicle and a stout man in a fur coat turned as he heard Limbo enter. Again, something seemed to flutter in front of his eyes and he swatted at it but, unfortunately for Limbo, there was another thug in that area and he was not affected. Limbo swung with the gun, missed, and took a fist to the stomach that doubled him up. The thug wrestled the gun away and got the young man down with a knee to the chest that made it hard to breathe. The other man pitched in and brought some clothesline. After a few frenzied minutes, they had him down on his face with his wrists tied to his ankles.
The door opened and Limbo looked up to see a newcomer, a wide man in bulky clothing, with a black handlebar mustache in an expressionless face. Major Buchinski.
III.
In his office in a four-story building on 44th Street and 3rd Avenue, Bane got up and stretched. An hour of phone calls had given him little to work with. over the years, he had built up a network of watchers for unexplained phenomena but sometimes they were dry. He went over and started straightening the mess of random papers on top of the bookcase while he mulled things over. He had in fact heard of Timothy Limbo, despite his non-commital answer to Signet. The guy's real last name was Lambert, he was from Ohio. For the past two years, he had been making a living getting information where no one else could. He retrieved stolen objects, found missing persons and did some spying. All for stiff fees. No one knew how he did all this. When asked his methods, he had said, "If I told people how, everyone would do it and I'd have to get a job."
So far, he and Bane had not crossed paths. The Midnight War had many colorful characters like Tim Limbo, interesting people who were no threat to the public and therefore no any of Bane's immediate concern.
From the corner of his eye, the Dire Wolf saw movement and he whirled about, dropping into a crouch with his hand jumping to the gun holstered behind one hip. His laptop sat on a corner of his desk, where he had it charging. As he watched, the lid rose by itself.
Bane felt his hair stand up and his skin go cold. He was in the presence of something uncanny, something he could not explain. Cautiously, he took a step closer as the screen lit up. What was that foggy spot near the laptop? The office was brightly lit, with five lamps all on at the moment and he saw something like a tiny wisp of smoke near his computer. No, there were two of them. Bane did not feel fear so much as curiosity as he approached. NOTEPAD was on the screen and as he watched in amazement, symbols appeared. 212 STREET GARAGE HURRY! The two small clouds circled the laptop as if to get his attention.
Still watching the laptop, the Dire Wolf turned off the reading lamp next to it. He got his coat from the hook on the door and pulled it on, taking gloves from its pockets and tugging them on. He went over to the couch and turned off the lamps on either side of it, then got the stand-up lamp in the corner. Now there was just the overhead dome still lit. In its downward illumination, he saw the wisps more clearly. They looked like puffs of cigarette smoke but more clear than white. They rose together and drifted over toward the door, waiting for him.
"Okay," he said out loud. "Now this is just plain creepy." He turned off the overhead light and left the office into the tiny waiting room. This held only two chairs and a table with newspapers and magazines, he crossed it with two steps and was out in the hall. As he closed the door to his office behind him, it locked automatically. Now he could not see the wisps. Bane hurried through the lobby and turned left once on the street, breaking into a run. At 40th Street, he rushed into the Imperial Garage and headed for his assigned spot. The green and blue lights over the rearview mirror of his Mustang showed no one had tampered with it. In another few seconds, he was pulling into traffic and heading north. At a red light, he turned around and looked inside the car and, sure enough, a few of those little wisps were floating in mid-air. Up close, he could see they were shaped like tornadoes, tapering down to a point. As he got used to the idea, the Dire Wolf found he was actually starting to feel friendly toward them. They did not seem hostile but more like.... pets?
At 211th Street, he pulled over and turned off the car. The next block up, he had spotted an auto repair shop that seemed to have been closed for some time but which had a black Ford Ranger parked next to it. Bane got out. This time of year, it was dark by five-thirty and, being dressed all in black, he was just a vague shadow in the gloom. The nearest streetlamp was at the end of the block and the building next to the garage was a print shop that also seemed vacant. Bane eased up around the print shop, watching for signs of movement. The door at the rear of the garage opened, showing dim light from within, as if someone held a flashlight.
Two men stepped outside and obviously were checking out the terrain. One went back in and the other walked over to stand besiide the Ford. Bane crept up, stealthy by nature and training, getting behind the man. A car went by with loud music thumping from it and, as the sentry's head turned to follow that car, Bane stepped up behind the man and his stiff open hand smacked down hard where neck joins shoulder. There was a snapping noise. The man sagged and would have fallen but Bane caught him under the armpits and hauled him around to the other side of the SUV, out of sight from within the garage.
Propping the man up against the vehicle, the Dire Wolf searched through the thug's pockets with his free hand. A switchblade, a .38 snubnosed revolver, a sock full of sand. Honestly, he thought as he dropped the knife and gun in his own pockets and poured the sand out onto the sidewalk. There was no wallet, no ID. In the shirt pocket, though, was a bundle of Euros and two twenty-dollar American bills. Bane checked out the scarred knuckles and flat nose and decided this guy was no poet. The SUV was unlocked, so he shoved the limp snoring man inside the back seat. As he closed the door, he heard a voice call softly, "Pavel? Pavel, you drunken fool, where are you?"
Another man was coming around the side of the Ford Ranger. Thanks for being so helpful, Bane thought. As the thug appeared, the Dire Wolf seized him by the front of his coat and pulled him violently into an elbow right between the eyes. The man's head swayed back as far as it could. He would be out for a while. As he was getting this one into the front seat of the Ford, he heard more feet scraping from the direction of the garage. Dropping to the cold ground, he rolled underneath the car as two men reached it.
They were speaking Russian. He could see their feet as they seemed to be peering inside the vehicle. Bane slid out on the other side of the SUV and whipped around behind them. Both were holding pistols and he could not afford to be stealthy. The Dire Wolf came in faster than any normal Human could match, slamming one thug into the other, tangling them up. He lashed out a vicious left hook that caught one in the face and the backfist with the same hand cracked the other on the side of the neck. They were taken off guard, softened but not down. Bane hit the nearer one in the solar plexus with an elbow, driving all the blood out and dropping the man. The other one starting to raise his gun just as a steel-capped boot caught him on the side of the head and spun him completely around. Bane lowered his leg. A taxi slowed down as it passed but sped right up again and went through a stop sign without pausing.
Now he had four unconscious men to deal with. Bane threw them all in together on top of each other. Their comfort was not his concern. Hastily going through their pockets, he found two more pistols and a set of keys that fit the Ford. Bane locked the door and closed it, jamming the key in the lock and snapping it off. He had four pistols in his hands, as well as the swichblade and another knife. All of these he dropped in a litter bin by the sidewalk.
You couldn't ask for an easier fight so far, he thought. These guys were big and tough but not professional at all. One should have covered the others from an angle.
The front door of the auto repair shop creaked open. Bane leaped toward the rear door and plunged inside. The only person in there now was a young man in his early twenties, hogtied on the floor. The Dire Wolf crouched, whipped out one of his silver daggers from beneath his sleeve and sliced easily through the clothesline. "I'm going to guess you're Timothy Limbo, right?"
"That's me," the man said, rolling over and sitting up. "I see my caspers got the message to you."
"Caspers..? What, those little puffs of smoke?" Bane peered around the dim interior, lit only by the wide picture window in the front of the shop. He didn't see any ghosts. "Here, can you get up?"
Limbo sat up, rubbing his wrists painfully as the lights went on. Looming up behind them was the bulky shape of Major Buchinsky. He had a pearl-handled .32 automatic aimed right at Bane's head.
"Please not to move," he grated in a rasping voice.
"Oh, knock it off with the accent and the fake voice," Bane said. "I know it's you, Signet."
For one second, the gun wavered and then straightened again. "You will be coming with me-"
"No one's going anywhere," said Bane calmly. "That's a real lady's gun for such a big macho guy. Good mask. Quality material clued to the face so it moves naturally. The mustache looks like real human hair. But you don't move like a man weighing two hundred and sixty, you move like a woman weighing one hundred and twenty and wearing padded clothing."
"He's a lady?" Limbo asked. "Yeah, I see it. Now that you mention it, it's obvious."
Buchinsky extended the arm that held the automatic and closed one eye. Then three vague shapes spun around his head, like clouds driven by wind. He cursed and swatted at them involuntarily and in that instant, it was all over. Jeremy Bane closed the distance in a fencer's lunge, grasping the gunhand and yanking the weapon away with a suddenness that broke the trigger finger. Buchinsky gasped in pain and surprise. With one foot, Bane kicked the Major's feet out from under and the killer fell to a seated position with a thump.
"Thanks for the caspers," the Dire Wolf said to Limbo. "Nice distraction."
As he got up, Timothy Limbo grinned and tugged his leather jacket down. "Even when someone knows about them, they're hard to ignore. There's a strong instinct to get things away from your eyes."
Bane tucked the pearl-handed automatic in his own side pocket and sheathed the dagger under his sleeve again. "Time to wrap this up." He bent and seized Buchinsky's face near the collar, tugging it sharply upward. "No! Stop! It's clued on," the Major screamed but Bane did not listen. A little bit of skin came with the mask and some hair was pulled out, but Bane was relentless.
A furious, white-faced Signet was seated on the floor. She glared up venomously.
The Dire Wolf said to Limbo, "This woman is a field agent for a government agency called the Mandate. They're a shady bunch, their agenda is to keep tabs on people with unusual abilities. Like you, and like me."
"So... what were they going to do with me?"
"Study. Experiment. See if they could duplicate your skills." Bane sighed. "There is no use turning her over to the police, the Mandate will just come and claim her in the name of national security. No, I'm afraid she has to disappear and never be heard from again."
"You wouldn't dare..."
"Of course I would. Be serious, Signet. I'm sure you've read the file on me. How many times did I go after someone who just vanished off the face of the earth?"
"That's true... but, Jeremy, no! Don't kill me. I was just acting on instructions."
"Hold on, you can't simply bury her out in the woods somewhere," Limbo interrupted.
"I can do better than that," Bane said calmly."There will not be enough left for anyone to identify. It's the only way to get the Mandate to leave us alone."
The woman called Signet got to her knees and stood up, a bizarre figure with her small head sticking up from the bulky disguise. "We can make a deal, I know we can. I will do anything you want. Right here, right now. Or I can arrange payments. How much money would come in handy, cash in unmarked small bills, say fifty thousand dollars?"
"That's where our tax money goes?" Bane asked. "No, Signet, I think the Mandate needs a warning. Limbo, look the other way, you don't want to watch this..."
"I can order my department to leave you alone. Yes. I am assistant director, there is only one person above me in the department that handles special ability investigation. I swear it, you will never hear from the Mandate again."
The Dire Wolf stayed deadpan. "I know how much your word is worth. But... Killing women always bothers me. I feel guilty for a few days. All right, we'll give it a chance. But if Limbo or I are ever bothered by your department, you'll become a missing person." He turned to the horrified Limbo. "We need to go. She'll call a clean-up squad to come get her and her goons."
"If you say so," Timothy Limbo muttered. He followed Bane outside. The wind was howling now, the temperature had dropped five degrees. They headed toward where their cars were parked, by coincidence not far from each other.
"I want to thank you for the rescue," Limbo said. "Usually I can get out of tight spots by myself but I thought I was going to end up shanghaied to Russia and that would be a drag. I know who you are. We work in related fields."
Bane gestured toward his Mustang. "What do you say to spending some time in a diner talking? I would like to know more about those little helpers of yours. Are they conscious? Do they have minds of their own or are they just projections of your mind?"
"Damned if I know," Limbo said. "I can't figure them out. They just started turning up a few years ago and I've gotten used to them. Listen, Mr Bane, I have to know. You were bluffing back there, right? You wanted to scare her, that's why you threatened to make her disappear but it actually was a bluff. Right?"
Bane glared back over his shoulder at the auto repair shop. "Let's hope she doesn't come back to find out."
4/22/2013
