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"Doc Valentine and His Pal Bogus"
"Doc Valentine and His Pal Bogus"
4/6/2003
I.
Eleven o'clock on an early spring evening, and Jeremy Bane walked quickly up 11th Avenue near 109th Street. It wasn't the best neighborhood. Two punks in a doorway fingered the knives in their coat pockets and wondered if this stranger had enough money on him to make it worth the effort. But something about him made them draw back. They could not find an exact reason. The way he moved, the confidence, the alertness in those grey eyes were all signals he would not be an easy victim. As he drew near, they actually shrank back a little. Bane was not huge nor muscular, just six feet tall and maybe a hundred and eighty pounds. He was not covered with tattoos that meant he had killed people, and he did not have visible scars. He did not need any of these to be intimidating.
The Dire Wolf turned left and went another block over. This was the last address he had for Doc Valentine. It was a weathered white stone building only four stories high, with two front doors and a sign ROOMS AVAILABLE. Between the two doors was a ledge bearing a row of pathetically dry and dying plants. One door was ajar and Bane pushed it inward to look at the row of pushbuttons with names. Nothing seemed likely. He tried the other door and found it was locked. Breaking and entry number nine hundred, he thought sadly. Without seeming to use much effort, he drew back his elbow and slammed the heel of his hand just above the doorknob. Metal snapped and the door swung inward. He checked the row of names and spotted "Obadiah Q. Sneed" on the third floor.
That had to be Doc Valentine, he thought sourly, him and his ridiculous aliases. You'd think a con man would use more plausible names. Bane trotted easily up the stairs and rapped sharply on the designated door. A nasal voice called out, "He's not here."
The Dire Wolf rarely evidenced a sense of humor. "I've got the money I owe you," he called.
At once, the door was flung inward and a round, blotched face thrust out. The bulbous nose had broken blood vessels and the blonde hair was thin. "You restore my faith in-- Great Caesar's Ghost!" Valentine tried to jump back and slam the door but Bane was already pushing him backwards.
"We need to talk." Bane closed the door behind him. The rented rooms were threadbare and dismal, with cracked plaster on the walls and dubious stains on the ancient couch. On a low coffee table was a nearly empty bottle of gin, a tumbler and five shot glasses.
He had to ask. "Why do you need all those shot glasses?"
"In case of guests," came the drawling answer. "Jeremy, you are like a son to me."
"No, I'm not. Anyone else here?"
"You are the first human being to step through that door in ages." Doc Valentine plopped unceremoniously down and finished off the gin as if he were afraid Bane was going to ask for some, then daintly wiped his lips with a handkerchief from his breast pocket. He was wearing an old-fashioned single-breasted suit with a carnation in the label. "Where's that money you owed me?"
"I don't owe you money. I just said that so you'd let me in. Listen, Doc. I just came from the police station on 20th Street."
"So glad they released you, my boy."
"I wasn't a suspect!" Bane snapped. He hated dealing with this old degenerate. "Lt Montez asked me to watch some video of a robbery. A man walks into a liquor store near Times Square. Short, dumpy guy with hairy arms and a gold watch on the right wrist. Looks Italian, in his forties. He snatches up a quart of gin in each hand, turns and walks right out the door. The owner of the liquor store squawks and goes after him. Here's where things get weird. The security camera shows the robber step out through the door and turn right. That man is not seen again. Through the front window of the store we see a tall thin man with with a beard walking to the right and he is holding both bottles of gin. The store owner has reached the door and he naturally turns right. No robber in sight. Standing on the sidewalk is a man who answers your description."
"Untenable blathering," said Doc Valentine. "I am certain there are many who resemble me in our fair city."
"Wearing a straw hat? With a sixty-inch waist and a walking stick? And that nose?"
"You hurt me, Jeremy. My nose was injured in the war."
"Montez is stuck for an explanation and I can't figure it out either. But then, he doesn't know you. You've pulled some cute swindles in your day, Doc. What's the story this time?"
"Ah, Jeremy. My conscience is as white as the snow on Christmas Eve. I am sure I have the receipt for that bottle of the life-giving liquid on the table, if that is what you are driving at. My doctor recommends it for palpitations."
To himself, Jeremy Bane began to count down from a hundred. Every time he crossed paths with Doc Valentine was a severe trial. Letting out a deep breath, he said, "What did you see in front of the liquor store?"
"Deny everything, don't leave tips if you're never going back there and always sit by the door, those are words I live by. I say, my boy, have you eaten? I could coddle an egg and make some pumpernickel toast if you like."
As Bane prayed for strength, he felt something funny about the chair he was sitting in. It seemed warm to the touch and a bit yielding for a plain straightback chair with no mat. He turned his head and looked back over his shoulder just as a living eye opened in the back of the chair.
It was the first time he had ever screamed in alarm that he could remember. The Dire wolf was up and on his feet in a tiny fraction of a second, spinning around with one of the silver-bladed daggers appearing in his hand from its forearm sheath. As he watched in horror, a second eye opened and the first slid over to make room. The chair stared at him for a second, then the eyes closed and left no trace behind.
Bane bent closer and peered suspiciouly. "Doc, what WAS that?"
"Did a flea bite you? Bought that chair at a flea market."
The chair seemed ordinary enough, even mundane with its varnish chipped away and a cigarette burn on the seat. "I know I'm not going to get any cooperation from you."
"Did I ever tell you about the curious customs of the Poodalompa people of Paraguay? They used to tie their unruly children to a chair much like that one and then soak them in tepid water-"
Valentine's unlikely reminiscences were cut short as Bane poked the chair with the dagger he still had, hard enough to try to chip off a splinter. In an instant, the object swelled up, expanded, became a manlike shape that shot out a hard square block on an extension like a thick tentacle. It caught Bane in the face with brutal force, snapping his head around and throwing him back off his feet.
"Time to vacate the premises," he heard Doc Valentine mutter. "Ah, the rent was due anyway."
II.
It was by no means the first time Bane had come back to consciousness after a hard blow but practice did not make it more pleasant. He was lying face down, and his face ached but his mind was clear. He took deep slow breaths. After a minute, he pushed with both hands and got up on his knees. He did not feel like he was going to vomit, which was a plus. Moving his head slowly, he saw he was alone in the seedy room. Not only had Doc Valentine left but he had taken that chair with him.
Thirty years of a tagra tea diet had given Bane enhanced healing factors. He could still be injured or killed, of course, but he did recover from trauma much faster than a normal human. In another minute, he got to his feet and checked his watch. 11:14. At least he had not been out for long. The Dire Wolf spotted his silver dagger and retrieved it, then went through his clothing. Surprisingly, his wallet and cash were still there. He had expected Valentine to take everything he could carry but maybe the old crook had been too afraid of being punched if Bane had revived to find someone going through his pockets.
He spent ten minutes searching the apartment but found nothing of use. Five empty gin bottles, some orange peels, two cigar butts and an empty box of chocolate-covered cherries. Valentine did not have the healthiest life style. Bane doggedly took the place apart and still came up empty. By this time his head had stopped hurting. What exactly had happened? He had poked that chair and, as he remembered it, the damn thing had changed shape and punched him out. What was that with the eyes coming out of a wooden chair? That made no sense.
With Doc Valentine involved, he suspected trickery of some sort. The man had been a fraud and swindler since before Bane had been born. He could think of nothing more to do here. Leaving the apartment, he went back out on the street and began circling the neighborhood. It was possible he might spot something. A bloodcurdling scream rang out behind him, Bane wheeled around and raced toward it. In front of a fast-food place, a fat black woman in a bright orange dress shrieked again. He took her by the shoulders. "What's going on? What happened?"
"An arm! An arm reached out of a taxi and stole my Big Mac! It was ten feet long, it took my Big Mac!"
The Dire Wolf saw a taxi at a red light at the next block and her eyes fixed on it. He ran toward it, caught sight of Doc Valentine's bloated face peering myopically out of the rear window. The taxi had not picked up speed yet. Someone was in there with him. In another instant, he had caught up with it and was yelling, "Hold it!" Something long and flexible, like a thick fire hose whipped out and snapped at him. Bane dropped to his knees and one hand as the thing whistled overhead, and by then the taxi had accelerated enough that he would not be able to catch it.
Getting up, Bane stood there motionless. He had seen a lot of inexplicable events in his time but this... He took off at a full run in the direction the taxi had gone. Two blocks further on, he found another screaming woman. This one was blonde, slim and well-dressed, holding a leash. A leash? She seemed borderline hysterical. Bane grabbed her shoulder and squeezed hard enough to get her attention. "What happened?"
"My Sophie, my poor little Sophie."
"What happened to Sophie?"
"This THING took her! It was a giant snake, it came out of a car window and ate my Sophie!"
The woman seized him in a panicky bear hug and would not let go. She smelled strongly of lavender. By the time he disentangled himself without hurting her, he knew the taxi would be long gone.
For the next hour, Bane circled the streets but saw nothing more of interest. What a night. He was over by 3rd Avenue, so he started heading south. By 50th Street, he saw two excited men and watched them as he approached but they were just arguing over sports. As he neared 46th, it was one o'clock and he wanted to think things over. He stepped up to the quiet red brick building, went up the stairs to the second floor and down the hall. At the door to his apartment, he flipped open a wooden panel that looked like part of the molding and checked the alarms he had installed himself. Everything was green. As he entered, he flipped the switch and the overhead light went on. He hung up his black sport jacket, kicked off his boots and went over to sit on the couch. As soon as he settled down, his cell phone rang.
He knew that number on the screen. "Hi, lieutenant."
"Bane! We're getting some screwy reports around Manhattan. Thought I'd check with you, weirdness is your area of expertise."
The Dire Wolf said, "I'm looking into it. What I'm able to say is that someone is going around stealing gin, hamburgers and Shih-Tzu dogs."
"They're WHAT?"
"Yep. Do you know a con man called Doc Valentine?"
"Can't say I do. Is he involved?"
"Yes," Bane said. "White male in his late sixties. Five feet ten inches tall, maybe two hundred and sixty pounds, built like a pear. Blonde hair going white, blue eyes. Big round red nose. Uses a hundred aliases."
"Should be easy to identify. Anything else?"
Bane hesitated. "I think your men should exercise caution if he has a companion. He may have someone with him who is unpredictable and might be dangerous. I don't have anything more yet but I have a bad feeling about this individual."
"Gotcha. Thanks, Mr Dire Wolf. See ya."
For a few minutes, he sat there thinking. Bane knew he was not a deductive genius with razor-keen observational skills, but he thought he was reasonably sharp. Eyes had popped out of the chair. The chair had changed shape and hit him with with a fist made out of its own material. Then, Valentine had been seen with something that snatched up a hamburger and a dog and presumably ate them, with an "arm ten feet long" and "a giant snake." There was something out there that could change shape at will. What was it? He didn't remember ever hearing anything about like that in the Midnight War before.
His phone rang again and he jumped. That surprised him. After all the nightmarish battles and ordeals he had survived, he didn't think anything could affect him like that. He dug in his pocket but the phone was on the couch next to him. "Yeah?"
"Bleak here. I think you oughtta go to the all-night diner on the West Side Highway."
"why would I want to do that?" Bane asked. Bleak always had good tips for him but tonight seemed kind of whacky.
"Just go," and the connection broke off.
the Dire wolf got his boots back on and picked up his jacket. NOW what? He was used to phone calls from Bleak in the middle of the night, it was what he paid the man a monthly retainer for, but it would be nice to have some background before he went back out. He hit the street running, got down to the Imperial Garage on 40th Street and hopped in his dark green Subaru. Bane wasn't sleepy at all, being basically nocturnal by nature, but he was annoyed at not knowing what was going on. He headed over toward the West Side highway and found the diner Bleak had mentioned. It was called Big Red's Diner, all chrome and glass with a neon arrow pointing to the door. Bane hopped out of his car and trotted up the ramp to that door, stepping into something he had not expected.
There in a booth sat Doc Valentine himself. He was smiling at a mixed drink with that out of focus expression which suggested he should not be driving any time soon. The table in front of him was piled with plates and dishes stacked on top of each other as if a dozen diners had left their debris for him to get rid of. Sitting opposite Valentine, shoving a pork chop whole in his mouth, was someone who looked like Bane himself.
He was six feet tall, lean to the point to being gaunt. The short black hair had a few grey strands here and there, the narrow face had a feral aspect and even the cold grey eyes under heavy brows were the same. The man was wearing all black- slacks,turtleneck and sport jacket, and he glanced up as Bane entered.
For the longest time, the tableau held. Doc Valentine chugged the mixed drink as if it were ice water on a hot summer day and smiled at the Dire Wolf. "Ah, can you have too much of a good thing? Now you will never need a mirror, my lad."
Bane stepped closer in horror. The thing that looked like him took the bone from the pork chop out of its mouth, broke it open and started chewing it with loud crunching noise. It swallowed, gazed at him and said in the most mellow, plummy voice imaginable, "Good morning to you, goood morning."
Still unable to speak, Bane watched as a waiter came to clear away five plates and three dishes, then put a new plate of scrambled eggs, sausage and bacon down. The thing that looked like him dove in as if it had just crawled through the dessert for three days. The waiter was staring back and forth from Bane to the thing that looked like him.
"They are not twins," Valentine offered helpfully, "just identical strangers."
Finally, Bane managed to say, "Has your friend got a name, Doc?"
"Oh, indubitably. I call him Bogus. Very appropriate, don't you agree?"
"And how are you going to pay for hundreds of dollars worth of food, if you don't mind my asking?"
"The wise man burns his bridges before he comes to them," Valentine observed. "These glasses must be defective, they keep being empty."
Bane looked from Valentine to his companion and got another jolt. The thing was now dressed in shades of brown and tan, his hair was platinum blonde and his eyes green. He licked the plate and belched.
"Done?" asked the Dire Wolf. "I think we need to talk."
"Right after a drink," began Valentine but Bane cut him off by seizing the front of his shirt in one hand and pulling him half up out of the booth. From the corner of his eye, he saw the Bogus roar up, expanding, and a fist the size of a suitcase came at his head. Bane dropped to the floor, feeling the whoosh of air as that huge fist barely missed him.
"Uh-uh," Valentine laughed. "I think you should know Bogus is slightly protective of me."
The creature was out of his seat, looming up over Bane, suddenly twice as wide and a foot taller. His eyes glowed red and he had fangs. Bane took a stance and blasted a full power straight punch right to the middle of that face. That blow would have killed a normal Human. Bogus lurched backward and sagged down to normal size.
"That hurt," it said in a childlike voice.
"Seriously, Doc, we need to get out of here," Bane ordered.
Valentine squeezed laboriously out from behind the table. "Oh, very well. I was hoping for perhaps a wafer thin mint to settle my stomach but if you insist..." He managed to stand up. "Didn't you say you were treating us?"
"I did not!"
"I could have sworn..." Valentine dug through his pockets and went to the register by the door. A woman came out of the ladie's room, straightening her peach-colored uniform. She had not seen what had happened. Valentine paid with a debit card and Bane snatched it from his head before he could put it away.
"Since when is your name Dorothy Lerner?" Bane demanded, keeping the debit card to destroy it later.
"Know any taverns open at this hour?" asked Valentine. He put a straw hat on that seemed appropriate for his rumpled suit.
"It's almost four in the morning. Where did Bogus come from, Doc?"
The creature himself answered. "Room 444. Neubert and Rovitzky."
"Steady there," Valentine warned. "Let's not spill all our beans, son."
Bane turned to the thing which now did not resemble him quite so much. It seemed to have put on eighty pounds since walking out of the diner. He asked, "Bogus? Who are you?"
"I'm an experimental protein with binding enzymes."
The Dire Wolf went on. "And you're from room 444. Neubert and Rovitsky are scientists involved in your creation?"
"That's more than enough," Valentine interrupted. He started forward and Bane stopped him with an arm across the chest. As he saw this, Bogus again reacted to what seemed to be harm to Doc Valentine. He stretched up and out, become a sheet eight feet across and dropped down over Bane. They rolled around in a struggling mass. Abruptly, Bogus shrieked like a banshee and convulsed. Bane went flying twenty feet through the air to crash right into the windshield of his own car, shattering it and deploying the driver air bag. One of the silver daggers clattered to the ground.
Bogus came down to human proportion but with unfinished features, his face nearly blank. Thick white goo dripped from a gash across his chest. "He made an opening in my outer surface," the creature whined like a child.
"He doesn't care for you the way I do," Valentine sniffed. "Come, come, let's move on." He led Bogus away from the diner and into the darkness.
III.
Thirty feet away from the diner, Jeremy Bane struggled out from his position upside-down in the driver's seat with his feet up in the air. He sure was taking a beating on this case. Climbing out over the hood, brushing away all the glass, he saw no sign of Doc Valentine or the creature Bogus, and he growled in frustration. Bane stood up and found he wasn't hurt beyond a certain bruising and some superficial cuts. He didn't see any staring faces in the diner windows. Bane sighed and opened the door, got out his daggers and cut the air bag away, throwing it in the back seat. There was only a little broken glass on the ground and he tried to get every piece. Not leaving signs of his activities was first nature by now.
In the trunk was a suitcase with crime scene equipment, fingerprint kits and cameras and so forth. He got a clean glass bottle and a sterile glass rod in its paper wrapper to scoop up some of the goo that had dripped out of Bogus.The stuff was clotting fast and getting clouded. Brushing off the driver's seat with his jacket, Bane got in and drove back to midtown with no windshield. At least it's not the middle of winter, he thought. Pulling back into the garage on 40th Street, he got a blanket from the trunk and spread it over the empty space where the windshield was. What kind of story was he going to give the insurance company? He had no idea. He'd better just pay to replace the windshield himself. A stray bit of glass fell off his jacket and he kicked it down a drain.
It was getting light out. He walked six blocks north to his apartment and sagged down on the couch. Everything hurt by this point. Bane got up again, walked to his bedroom and its adjoining bathroom, throwing his clothes in the hamper. He took a hot shower and shaved, toweled himself dry and got into a fresh outfit. He had six sets of the black turtlenecks and slacks, and seldom wore anything else. Back in the living room, he dug around in the refrigerator but found slim pickings. Settling for two slices of cold pizza and a big container of cottage cheese, he shoveled it down and started to feel more normal. Bane heated a mug of water in the microwave, stirred in a handful of dried tagra leaves and sipped the tea as its healing properties kicked in.
Sunlight came in the east windows. Bane stood by them and called a number he had not used for months, the headquarters of the Kenneth Dred Foundation and Megan Salenger's extension.
"Trom Girl here," came a chipper, fully-awake voice.
"Hi, Megan, it's me."
"Captain! Good to hear your voice."
"I need your expertise. Are you busy this morning?"
"Not at all. I am just doing routine maintenance. Tell me more."
"I'll be coming over in a few minutes. Glad you're there."
"Glad to help." She broke off. Bane headed out of the apartment, going west. At Lexington, he swung left and went down six blocks until he was on East 38th Street, in front of the ten-story building where he had lived the most dramatic years of his life. He tried not to come back here unless necessary. As he put his foot on the steps, the front door swung open and Megan greeted him. "Good morning, captain! Come right in."
It had been five years since he had first met Megan Salenger. Her figure had filled out a little bit, her hair was styled differently but she was still Trom Girl, a Human orphan raised by the emotionless Trom to be their liaison. She was wearing regular clothes for a change, dark blue pants and a white pullover with faint blue vertical stripes. As Bane entered, she put an arm across his shoulders and pressed against him from the side for a second.
"Where is everyone?" he asked.
"Argent is sleeping in his room, he was on night watch. The others are in Osaka, investigating some Water Ghost sightings. I wish you would come here more often, Jeremy, you are missed."
Bane looked around as they entered the front hall. There had been only a few small changes. "Ah, Megan. It's too tempting. But I would keep you guys from being your own team." He reached in his pocket and took out the sample bottle. "How about an analysis?"
Her dark eyes narrowed in curiosity. "Sure. Let me see that. Hmm, let's go in the reception room." She opened the door to their left and led him into the room he had used as his office in the decade between the original KDF and the new team. Nothing had been moved. There was his desk beneath the huge hand-painted wall map, there was the fish tank with the creatures from Ulgor.
"Did you just keep this room as a historical piece or something?" he asked.
"Sable saw no reason to change anything. When outsiders visit, this room is a convenient place to talk to them without showing our secrets." Megan pulled up a straightback chair to the desk and turned on the reading lamp. "Captain, would you get me a clean dish from the coffee service?"
Walking over to the sideboard, Bane opened its cabinet and took out a small china dish. He wiped it with a napkin and brought it over, where Trom Girl poured out a portion of the substance that had leaked from Bogus' wound. Reaching in her pocket, she took out a communications device called a Link, and started taking readings. The device chirped and beeped and buzzed as its sensors worked.
Bane stood back and kept silent. He had one of the Links with all the functions, but he was no scientist. Ten minutes went by before she clicked it off and stood up. "This is fascinating. I would have said Human science is not capable of this yet."
"So, what is it?"
"A synthetic protein with a cluster of interlocking enzymes. interesting. This could be self-replicating."
The Dire Wolf took a seat next to her and told her about Bogus. She listened with complete absorbtion, then said, "What were the names the organism gave?"
"Neubert and Rovitsky."
Trom Girl said, "Captain, this is in confidence."
"Okay."
"One of them is a Trom. He is working in a Human facility to help steer research in the correct direction. How did this organism escape?"
"He didn't say and I can't get a straight answer from Valentine."
She took the dish of material and gazed down at it. "This is a dangerous situation. That protein replicates and adapts. Like any living being, its instinct is to survive, flourish and reproduce."
"I don't like the way that sounds."
"From the way you describe its actions, the organism is taking in massive amounts of animal protein. At a critical point, it will fission and there will be two. Each will repeat the process. There will be four, then eight, and they will increase their numbers in a geometric progression." She stood up. "I will take this sample and seal it in an airtight container. Please wait."
As she left the room, Bane got up and went over to look at the fish tank. Some of the creatures were different. The starfish with the eye in its center was gone, but there were some hermit crabs building a pile of small rocks to make a fort. He was watching them when Megan returned. Now she was wearing a dark jumpsuit with pouches and devices built in. Over one arm, she carried a beige topcoat that she pulled on. "We should hurry, captain."
The Dire Wolf faced her. "Megan, there is something you have not told me about this."
"I know you are skilled at reading body language," she said. "Very well. The protein can assume human form and understands spoken language because it has assimilated at least one human being."
Bane scowled, "Yeah, that does put a darker edge on things."
"Your friend Doc Valentine is in imminent danger of being eaten."
"My friend?... well, I can't allow him to be absorbed by a Blob if I can help it."
Megan led the way to the hall. "Is your car outside, Jeremy? No? We will have to use a KDF cruiser. Perhaps I should wake Argent?" She gave him the faintest smile. "No, I would prefer we keep this known to as few as possible."
They went to the walk-in closet by the front door, through a hidden panel in its back and down steep concrete stairs to the basement. Bane remembered when Kenneth Dred had first shown this to him so long ago, before Megan had even been born. They went down a narrow walkway between the vault and the arsenal and opened a plain plank door to the garage. A new cherry-red Jeep Wrangler sat there. "I should drive," she said. "I am making modifications and it does not handle like a regular car."
"I have no problem with that," Bane said, climbing in. First, she went to unhook a fire extinguisher from its rack on the wall and stow it in the back seat. Trom Girl started the Jeep up and went up the ramp with its sharp turn to pull out on Lexington Avenue. She headed toward the West Side Highway where the Bogus had last been seen. Bane started making phone calls to his network of watchers. Over thirty years, he had gathered a large number of people who owed him their lives and who were glad to report odd events to him. Ten minutes later, he hung up. "We're in luck. That was Jimmy the Hook. He saw the unmistakable Doc Valentine in Chelsea. He had some big guy with long hair with him."
"Chelsea it is," Megan said, making an abrupt turn. She seemed to be speeding recklessly to Bane, but he was objective enough to realize he was not used to being a passenger. At 15th Street, she saw a parking spot and slid in and they jumped out. She took out her Link and studied it, while Bane watched her quizzically. Looking up, she explained "The organism has a distinct chemical signature. If we get within twenty meters, I should be able to pick it up." she reached in the back seat and handed the fire extinguisher to him without explanation.
They started walking around, with her attention on the sensors. These are some ritzy buildings, Bane thought, what would Valentine be doing here? He never had money unless... Bogus was committing robberies. Yes, that sounded like something Doc Valentine would pull. Being able to change shape, the Bogus could reach through barriers and under cracks, unlocking doors from inside.
Suddenly, he grabbed Megan and pulled her back into the doorway of a boutique. She looked up, bemused. "what?"
"There they are," he said and pointed across the street, at an outdoor cafe. Sitting in a wrought iron chair was the rotund form of the man who called himself Doc Valentine. He was splendid in a new pearl grey suit with vest, silk tie and bowler hat, sipping a tall glass of something pale yellow. Seated opposite him was a man in plain dark shirt and pants, a man who looked very uncomfortable, as if about to be sick.
Megan Salenger whispered in Bane's ear, "The organism is ready to fission. He will split in two at any moment."
IV.
"We can lure them into that parking lot across the street," Bane said. "Valentine will follow you anywhere, he's a sucker for a pretty face."
She blinked. "You think I'm pretty?"
"You look like Winona Ryder, didn't anyone tell you? I'll wait over there."
As he hurried back down and circled the block to enter the parking lot from the other direction, Megan studied the con man and the synthetic organism. She tugged the lapels of her topcoat, took a deep breath and crossed the street to the cafe. As she approached, Bogus scowled biliously but Valentine grinned with delight.
"Ah, a damsel from the daydreams of the bereft," he said with his crooked grin. "The age of miracles is not over."
"Excuse me. Maybe- maybe you can help me?"
"What mortal flesh can do, I shall. Pray continue."
Trom Girl hesitated. The way this man talked confused her. "Would you come with me? Over there?"
"Ah, the automotive vehicular conumdrum." Valentine stood, pushing back his chair, and motioned for Bogus to remain seated. "I shall return anonce," he whined to his nonhuman partner.
But the synthethic organism lurched up to its feet. It was now in the semblance of a heavy blonde man with long sideburns and a ruddy face. He did not say anything but he came with them despite Valentine's sour look of disapproval. Megan walked with the fat old scoundrel and the artificial life form to the small parking lot of an apartment building. She did not see Bane and concluded he had hidden himself.
"You know, sweetheart," Valentine said, "a winsome lass like yourself could benefit from a man who has read the book of life and knows its secrets.."
She stopped next to a huge black SUV and turned to address the Bogus. "I can not allow you to fission," she said.
"Oh, so you really wish to converse with this galoot," grumbled Valentine. "How fickle."
The Bogus was trembling, its skin had ripples going over it. As she watched, an indentation appeared in its forehead and ran vertically down its length. Trom Girl said, "Captain!"
Stepping around the corner of the SUV, Bane pulled the pin on the fire extinguisher and sprayed bitter cold CO2 on the creature. Frost formed over its surface and it fell to hands and knees. In an instant, it lost its human shape and became a shifting blob of flesh that stiffened and was still. Bane shut the extinguisher off but kept its nozzle aimed at the mass.
"That went well," he said with surprise. "I was expecting a real struggle."
Doc Valentine was sputtering with outrage. "Jeremy, my boy! I am flummoxed at your poor judgement. He was a good friend, a loyal comrade-"
"And cash in your hand," Bane put in. "You got a lot of use out of him, let it go at that."
"Youth ever misunderstands," drawled that nasal voice. "Why, back in my day..."
The Dire Wolf threw a blurring punch that missed that alcoholic nose by a hair's width. Valentine gulped and was silent after that.
"I should turn you in. You have spent the day robbing stores and swiping wallets and God knows what else. But I don't want to spend three hours at police headquarters filling out reports about you. I have to dispose of this monster." He leaned closer. "You must have more cash than usual on you right now. Get out of New York. Go be a threat to morality somewhere else."
Doc Valentine tilted his bowler back. "I've always wanted to see Paris. Miami will do, though." He turned and bowed to Megan. "Charming though you are, I feel it is time to agitate the pavement," and he waddled off.
Trom Girl looked up at Bane. "Was he speaking English?"
"His own variety." The Dire Wolf touched the inert Bogus with the toe of his boot."I suppose we should get this thing in a freezer."
Megan nodded. "It was enjoyable working with you again, captain. I wish you would reconsider and come back to our team."
"Think a minute. You identified this creature, you figured out what would stop it. All I did was carry the fire extinguisher. I think you just proved you're ready to work on your own."
The Trom Girl pouted. Bane weakened and said, "Come on, let's get this thing secured and we can go break strict dietary regimen with some prohibited food."
That made her smile. "Pizza!"
4/20/2013
4/6/2003
I.
Eleven o'clock on an early spring evening, and Jeremy Bane walked quickly up 11th Avenue near 109th Street. It wasn't the best neighborhood. Two punks in a doorway fingered the knives in their coat pockets and wondered if this stranger had enough money on him to make it worth the effort. But something about him made them draw back. They could not find an exact reason. The way he moved, the confidence, the alertness in those grey eyes were all signals he would not be an easy victim. As he drew near, they actually shrank back a little. Bane was not huge nor muscular, just six feet tall and maybe a hundred and eighty pounds. He was not covered with tattoos that meant he had killed people, and he did not have visible scars. He did not need any of these to be intimidating.
The Dire Wolf turned left and went another block over. This was the last address he had for Doc Valentine. It was a weathered white stone building only four stories high, with two front doors and a sign ROOMS AVAILABLE. Between the two doors was a ledge bearing a row of pathetically dry and dying plants. One door was ajar and Bane pushed it inward to look at the row of pushbuttons with names. Nothing seemed likely. He tried the other door and found it was locked. Breaking and entry number nine hundred, he thought sadly. Without seeming to use much effort, he drew back his elbow and slammed the heel of his hand just above the doorknob. Metal snapped and the door swung inward. He checked the row of names and spotted "Obadiah Q. Sneed" on the third floor.
That had to be Doc Valentine, he thought sourly, him and his ridiculous aliases. You'd think a con man would use more plausible names. Bane trotted easily up the stairs and rapped sharply on the designated door. A nasal voice called out, "He's not here."
The Dire Wolf rarely evidenced a sense of humor. "I've got the money I owe you," he called.
At once, the door was flung inward and a round, blotched face thrust out. The bulbous nose had broken blood vessels and the blonde hair was thin. "You restore my faith in-- Great Caesar's Ghost!" Valentine tried to jump back and slam the door but Bane was already pushing him backwards.
"We need to talk." Bane closed the door behind him. The rented rooms were threadbare and dismal, with cracked plaster on the walls and dubious stains on the ancient couch. On a low coffee table was a nearly empty bottle of gin, a tumbler and five shot glasses.
He had to ask. "Why do you need all those shot glasses?"
"In case of guests," came the drawling answer. "Jeremy, you are like a son to me."
"No, I'm not. Anyone else here?"
"You are the first human being to step through that door in ages." Doc Valentine plopped unceremoniously down and finished off the gin as if he were afraid Bane was going to ask for some, then daintly wiped his lips with a handkerchief from his breast pocket. He was wearing an old-fashioned single-breasted suit with a carnation in the label. "Where's that money you owed me?"
"I don't owe you money. I just said that so you'd let me in. Listen, Doc. I just came from the police station on 20th Street."
"So glad they released you, my boy."
"I wasn't a suspect!" Bane snapped. He hated dealing with this old degenerate. "Lt Montez asked me to watch some video of a robbery. A man walks into a liquor store near Times Square. Short, dumpy guy with hairy arms and a gold watch on the right wrist. Looks Italian, in his forties. He snatches up a quart of gin in each hand, turns and walks right out the door. The owner of the liquor store squawks and goes after him. Here's where things get weird. The security camera shows the robber step out through the door and turn right. That man is not seen again. Through the front window of the store we see a tall thin man with with a beard walking to the right and he is holding both bottles of gin. The store owner has reached the door and he naturally turns right. No robber in sight. Standing on the sidewalk is a man who answers your description."
"Untenable blathering," said Doc Valentine. "I am certain there are many who resemble me in our fair city."
"Wearing a straw hat? With a sixty-inch waist and a walking stick? And that nose?"
"You hurt me, Jeremy. My nose was injured in the war."
"Montez is stuck for an explanation and I can't figure it out either. But then, he doesn't know you. You've pulled some cute swindles in your day, Doc. What's the story this time?"
"Ah, Jeremy. My conscience is as white as the snow on Christmas Eve. I am sure I have the receipt for that bottle of the life-giving liquid on the table, if that is what you are driving at. My doctor recommends it for palpitations."
To himself, Jeremy Bane began to count down from a hundred. Every time he crossed paths with Doc Valentine was a severe trial. Letting out a deep breath, he said, "What did you see in front of the liquor store?"
"Deny everything, don't leave tips if you're never going back there and always sit by the door, those are words I live by. I say, my boy, have you eaten? I could coddle an egg and make some pumpernickel toast if you like."
As Bane prayed for strength, he felt something funny about the chair he was sitting in. It seemed warm to the touch and a bit yielding for a plain straightback chair with no mat. He turned his head and looked back over his shoulder just as a living eye opened in the back of the chair.
It was the first time he had ever screamed in alarm that he could remember. The Dire wolf was up and on his feet in a tiny fraction of a second, spinning around with one of the silver-bladed daggers appearing in his hand from its forearm sheath. As he watched in horror, a second eye opened and the first slid over to make room. The chair stared at him for a second, then the eyes closed and left no trace behind.
Bane bent closer and peered suspiciouly. "Doc, what WAS that?"
"Did a flea bite you? Bought that chair at a flea market."
The chair seemed ordinary enough, even mundane with its varnish chipped away and a cigarette burn on the seat. "I know I'm not going to get any cooperation from you."
"Did I ever tell you about the curious customs of the Poodalompa people of Paraguay? They used to tie their unruly children to a chair much like that one and then soak them in tepid water-"
Valentine's unlikely reminiscences were cut short as Bane poked the chair with the dagger he still had, hard enough to try to chip off a splinter. In an instant, the object swelled up, expanded, became a manlike shape that shot out a hard square block on an extension like a thick tentacle. It caught Bane in the face with brutal force, snapping his head around and throwing him back off his feet.
"Time to vacate the premises," he heard Doc Valentine mutter. "Ah, the rent was due anyway."
II.
It was by no means the first time Bane had come back to consciousness after a hard blow but practice did not make it more pleasant. He was lying face down, and his face ached but his mind was clear. He took deep slow breaths. After a minute, he pushed with both hands and got up on his knees. He did not feel like he was going to vomit, which was a plus. Moving his head slowly, he saw he was alone in the seedy room. Not only had Doc Valentine left but he had taken that chair with him.
Thirty years of a tagra tea diet had given Bane enhanced healing factors. He could still be injured or killed, of course, but he did recover from trauma much faster than a normal human. In another minute, he got to his feet and checked his watch. 11:14. At least he had not been out for long. The Dire Wolf spotted his silver dagger and retrieved it, then went through his clothing. Surprisingly, his wallet and cash were still there. He had expected Valentine to take everything he could carry but maybe the old crook had been too afraid of being punched if Bane had revived to find someone going through his pockets.
He spent ten minutes searching the apartment but found nothing of use. Five empty gin bottles, some orange peels, two cigar butts and an empty box of chocolate-covered cherries. Valentine did not have the healthiest life style. Bane doggedly took the place apart and still came up empty. By this time his head had stopped hurting. What exactly had happened? He had poked that chair and, as he remembered it, the damn thing had changed shape and punched him out. What was that with the eyes coming out of a wooden chair? That made no sense.
With Doc Valentine involved, he suspected trickery of some sort. The man had been a fraud and swindler since before Bane had been born. He could think of nothing more to do here. Leaving the apartment, he went back out on the street and began circling the neighborhood. It was possible he might spot something. A bloodcurdling scream rang out behind him, Bane wheeled around and raced toward it. In front of a fast-food place, a fat black woman in a bright orange dress shrieked again. He took her by the shoulders. "What's going on? What happened?"
"An arm! An arm reached out of a taxi and stole my Big Mac! It was ten feet long, it took my Big Mac!"
The Dire Wolf saw a taxi at a red light at the next block and her eyes fixed on it. He ran toward it, caught sight of Doc Valentine's bloated face peering myopically out of the rear window. The taxi had not picked up speed yet. Someone was in there with him. In another instant, he had caught up with it and was yelling, "Hold it!" Something long and flexible, like a thick fire hose whipped out and snapped at him. Bane dropped to his knees and one hand as the thing whistled overhead, and by then the taxi had accelerated enough that he would not be able to catch it.
Getting up, Bane stood there motionless. He had seen a lot of inexplicable events in his time but this... He took off at a full run in the direction the taxi had gone. Two blocks further on, he found another screaming woman. This one was blonde, slim and well-dressed, holding a leash. A leash? She seemed borderline hysterical. Bane grabbed her shoulder and squeezed hard enough to get her attention. "What happened?"
"My Sophie, my poor little Sophie."
"What happened to Sophie?"
"This THING took her! It was a giant snake, it came out of a car window and ate my Sophie!"
The woman seized him in a panicky bear hug and would not let go. She smelled strongly of lavender. By the time he disentangled himself without hurting her, he knew the taxi would be long gone.
For the next hour, Bane circled the streets but saw nothing more of interest. What a night. He was over by 3rd Avenue, so he started heading south. By 50th Street, he saw two excited men and watched them as he approached but they were just arguing over sports. As he neared 46th, it was one o'clock and he wanted to think things over. He stepped up to the quiet red brick building, went up the stairs to the second floor and down the hall. At the door to his apartment, he flipped open a wooden panel that looked like part of the molding and checked the alarms he had installed himself. Everything was green. As he entered, he flipped the switch and the overhead light went on. He hung up his black sport jacket, kicked off his boots and went over to sit on the couch. As soon as he settled down, his cell phone rang.
He knew that number on the screen. "Hi, lieutenant."
"Bane! We're getting some screwy reports around Manhattan. Thought I'd check with you, weirdness is your area of expertise."
The Dire Wolf said, "I'm looking into it. What I'm able to say is that someone is going around stealing gin, hamburgers and Shih-Tzu dogs."
"They're WHAT?"
"Yep. Do you know a con man called Doc Valentine?"
"Can't say I do. Is he involved?"
"Yes," Bane said. "White male in his late sixties. Five feet ten inches tall, maybe two hundred and sixty pounds, built like a pear. Blonde hair going white, blue eyes. Big round red nose. Uses a hundred aliases."
"Should be easy to identify. Anything else?"
Bane hesitated. "I think your men should exercise caution if he has a companion. He may have someone with him who is unpredictable and might be dangerous. I don't have anything more yet but I have a bad feeling about this individual."
"Gotcha. Thanks, Mr Dire Wolf. See ya."
For a few minutes, he sat there thinking. Bane knew he was not a deductive genius with razor-keen observational skills, but he thought he was reasonably sharp. Eyes had popped out of the chair. The chair had changed shape and hit him with with a fist made out of its own material. Then, Valentine had been seen with something that snatched up a hamburger and a dog and presumably ate them, with an "arm ten feet long" and "a giant snake." There was something out there that could change shape at will. What was it? He didn't remember ever hearing anything about like that in the Midnight War before.
His phone rang again and he jumped. That surprised him. After all the nightmarish battles and ordeals he had survived, he didn't think anything could affect him like that. He dug in his pocket but the phone was on the couch next to him. "Yeah?"
"Bleak here. I think you oughtta go to the all-night diner on the West Side Highway."
"why would I want to do that?" Bane asked. Bleak always had good tips for him but tonight seemed kind of whacky.
"Just go," and the connection broke off.
the Dire wolf got his boots back on and picked up his jacket. NOW what? He was used to phone calls from Bleak in the middle of the night, it was what he paid the man a monthly retainer for, but it would be nice to have some background before he went back out. He hit the street running, got down to the Imperial Garage on 40th Street and hopped in his dark green Subaru. Bane wasn't sleepy at all, being basically nocturnal by nature, but he was annoyed at not knowing what was going on. He headed over toward the West Side highway and found the diner Bleak had mentioned. It was called Big Red's Diner, all chrome and glass with a neon arrow pointing to the door. Bane hopped out of his car and trotted up the ramp to that door, stepping into something he had not expected.
There in a booth sat Doc Valentine himself. He was smiling at a mixed drink with that out of focus expression which suggested he should not be driving any time soon. The table in front of him was piled with plates and dishes stacked on top of each other as if a dozen diners had left their debris for him to get rid of. Sitting opposite Valentine, shoving a pork chop whole in his mouth, was someone who looked like Bane himself.
He was six feet tall, lean to the point to being gaunt. The short black hair had a few grey strands here and there, the narrow face had a feral aspect and even the cold grey eyes under heavy brows were the same. The man was wearing all black- slacks,turtleneck and sport jacket, and he glanced up as Bane entered.
For the longest time, the tableau held. Doc Valentine chugged the mixed drink as if it were ice water on a hot summer day and smiled at the Dire Wolf. "Ah, can you have too much of a good thing? Now you will never need a mirror, my lad."
Bane stepped closer in horror. The thing that looked like him took the bone from the pork chop out of its mouth, broke it open and started chewing it with loud crunching noise. It swallowed, gazed at him and said in the most mellow, plummy voice imaginable, "Good morning to you, goood morning."
Still unable to speak, Bane watched as a waiter came to clear away five plates and three dishes, then put a new plate of scrambled eggs, sausage and bacon down. The thing that looked like him dove in as if it had just crawled through the dessert for three days. The waiter was staring back and forth from Bane to the thing that looked like him.
"They are not twins," Valentine offered helpfully, "just identical strangers."
Finally, Bane managed to say, "Has your friend got a name, Doc?"
"Oh, indubitably. I call him Bogus. Very appropriate, don't you agree?"
"And how are you going to pay for hundreds of dollars worth of food, if you don't mind my asking?"
"The wise man burns his bridges before he comes to them," Valentine observed. "These glasses must be defective, they keep being empty."
Bane looked from Valentine to his companion and got another jolt. The thing was now dressed in shades of brown and tan, his hair was platinum blonde and his eyes green. He licked the plate and belched.
"Done?" asked the Dire Wolf. "I think we need to talk."
"Right after a drink," began Valentine but Bane cut him off by seizing the front of his shirt in one hand and pulling him half up out of the booth. From the corner of his eye, he saw the Bogus roar up, expanding, and a fist the size of a suitcase came at his head. Bane dropped to the floor, feeling the whoosh of air as that huge fist barely missed him.
"Uh-uh," Valentine laughed. "I think you should know Bogus is slightly protective of me."
The creature was out of his seat, looming up over Bane, suddenly twice as wide and a foot taller. His eyes glowed red and he had fangs. Bane took a stance and blasted a full power straight punch right to the middle of that face. That blow would have killed a normal Human. Bogus lurched backward and sagged down to normal size.
"That hurt," it said in a childlike voice.
"Seriously, Doc, we need to get out of here," Bane ordered.
Valentine squeezed laboriously out from behind the table. "Oh, very well. I was hoping for perhaps a wafer thin mint to settle my stomach but if you insist..." He managed to stand up. "Didn't you say you were treating us?"
"I did not!"
"I could have sworn..." Valentine dug through his pockets and went to the register by the door. A woman came out of the ladie's room, straightening her peach-colored uniform. She had not seen what had happened. Valentine paid with a debit card and Bane snatched it from his head before he could put it away.
"Since when is your name Dorothy Lerner?" Bane demanded, keeping the debit card to destroy it later.
"Know any taverns open at this hour?" asked Valentine. He put a straw hat on that seemed appropriate for his rumpled suit.
"It's almost four in the morning. Where did Bogus come from, Doc?"
The creature himself answered. "Room 444. Neubert and Rovitzky."
"Steady there," Valentine warned. "Let's not spill all our beans, son."
Bane turned to the thing which now did not resemble him quite so much. It seemed to have put on eighty pounds since walking out of the diner. He asked, "Bogus? Who are you?"
"I'm an experimental protein with binding enzymes."
The Dire Wolf went on. "And you're from room 444. Neubert and Rovitsky are scientists involved in your creation?"
"That's more than enough," Valentine interrupted. He started forward and Bane stopped him with an arm across the chest. As he saw this, Bogus again reacted to what seemed to be harm to Doc Valentine. He stretched up and out, become a sheet eight feet across and dropped down over Bane. They rolled around in a struggling mass. Abruptly, Bogus shrieked like a banshee and convulsed. Bane went flying twenty feet through the air to crash right into the windshield of his own car, shattering it and deploying the driver air bag. One of the silver daggers clattered to the ground.
Bogus came down to human proportion but with unfinished features, his face nearly blank. Thick white goo dripped from a gash across his chest. "He made an opening in my outer surface," the creature whined like a child.
"He doesn't care for you the way I do," Valentine sniffed. "Come, come, let's move on." He led Bogus away from the diner and into the darkness.
III.
Thirty feet away from the diner, Jeremy Bane struggled out from his position upside-down in the driver's seat with his feet up in the air. He sure was taking a beating on this case. Climbing out over the hood, brushing away all the glass, he saw no sign of Doc Valentine or the creature Bogus, and he growled in frustration. Bane stood up and found he wasn't hurt beyond a certain bruising and some superficial cuts. He didn't see any staring faces in the diner windows. Bane sighed and opened the door, got out his daggers and cut the air bag away, throwing it in the back seat. There was only a little broken glass on the ground and he tried to get every piece. Not leaving signs of his activities was first nature by now.
In the trunk was a suitcase with crime scene equipment, fingerprint kits and cameras and so forth. He got a clean glass bottle and a sterile glass rod in its paper wrapper to scoop up some of the goo that had dripped out of Bogus.The stuff was clotting fast and getting clouded. Brushing off the driver's seat with his jacket, Bane got in and drove back to midtown with no windshield. At least it's not the middle of winter, he thought. Pulling back into the garage on 40th Street, he got a blanket from the trunk and spread it over the empty space where the windshield was. What kind of story was he going to give the insurance company? He had no idea. He'd better just pay to replace the windshield himself. A stray bit of glass fell off his jacket and he kicked it down a drain.
It was getting light out. He walked six blocks north to his apartment and sagged down on the couch. Everything hurt by this point. Bane got up again, walked to his bedroom and its adjoining bathroom, throwing his clothes in the hamper. He took a hot shower and shaved, toweled himself dry and got into a fresh outfit. He had six sets of the black turtlenecks and slacks, and seldom wore anything else. Back in the living room, he dug around in the refrigerator but found slim pickings. Settling for two slices of cold pizza and a big container of cottage cheese, he shoveled it down and started to feel more normal. Bane heated a mug of water in the microwave, stirred in a handful of dried tagra leaves and sipped the tea as its healing properties kicked in.
Sunlight came in the east windows. Bane stood by them and called a number he had not used for months, the headquarters of the Kenneth Dred Foundation and Megan Salenger's extension.
"Trom Girl here," came a chipper, fully-awake voice.
"Hi, Megan, it's me."
"Captain! Good to hear your voice."
"I need your expertise. Are you busy this morning?"
"Not at all. I am just doing routine maintenance. Tell me more."
"I'll be coming over in a few minutes. Glad you're there."
"Glad to help." She broke off. Bane headed out of the apartment, going west. At Lexington, he swung left and went down six blocks until he was on East 38th Street, in front of the ten-story building where he had lived the most dramatic years of his life. He tried not to come back here unless necessary. As he put his foot on the steps, the front door swung open and Megan greeted him. "Good morning, captain! Come right in."
It had been five years since he had first met Megan Salenger. Her figure had filled out a little bit, her hair was styled differently but she was still Trom Girl, a Human orphan raised by the emotionless Trom to be their liaison. She was wearing regular clothes for a change, dark blue pants and a white pullover with faint blue vertical stripes. As Bane entered, she put an arm across his shoulders and pressed against him from the side for a second.
"Where is everyone?" he asked.
"Argent is sleeping in his room, he was on night watch. The others are in Osaka, investigating some Water Ghost sightings. I wish you would come here more often, Jeremy, you are missed."
Bane looked around as they entered the front hall. There had been only a few small changes. "Ah, Megan. It's too tempting. But I would keep you guys from being your own team." He reached in his pocket and took out the sample bottle. "How about an analysis?"
Her dark eyes narrowed in curiosity. "Sure. Let me see that. Hmm, let's go in the reception room." She opened the door to their left and led him into the room he had used as his office in the decade between the original KDF and the new team. Nothing had been moved. There was his desk beneath the huge hand-painted wall map, there was the fish tank with the creatures from Ulgor.
"Did you just keep this room as a historical piece or something?" he asked.
"Sable saw no reason to change anything. When outsiders visit, this room is a convenient place to talk to them without showing our secrets." Megan pulled up a straightback chair to the desk and turned on the reading lamp. "Captain, would you get me a clean dish from the coffee service?"
Walking over to the sideboard, Bane opened its cabinet and took out a small china dish. He wiped it with a napkin and brought it over, where Trom Girl poured out a portion of the substance that had leaked from Bogus' wound. Reaching in her pocket, she took out a communications device called a Link, and started taking readings. The device chirped and beeped and buzzed as its sensors worked.
Bane stood back and kept silent. He had one of the Links with all the functions, but he was no scientist. Ten minutes went by before she clicked it off and stood up. "This is fascinating. I would have said Human science is not capable of this yet."
"So, what is it?"
"A synthetic protein with a cluster of interlocking enzymes. interesting. This could be self-replicating."
The Dire Wolf took a seat next to her and told her about Bogus. She listened with complete absorbtion, then said, "What were the names the organism gave?"
"Neubert and Rovitsky."
Trom Girl said, "Captain, this is in confidence."
"Okay."
"One of them is a Trom. He is working in a Human facility to help steer research in the correct direction. How did this organism escape?"
"He didn't say and I can't get a straight answer from Valentine."
She took the dish of material and gazed down at it. "This is a dangerous situation. That protein replicates and adapts. Like any living being, its instinct is to survive, flourish and reproduce."
"I don't like the way that sounds."
"From the way you describe its actions, the organism is taking in massive amounts of animal protein. At a critical point, it will fission and there will be two. Each will repeat the process. There will be four, then eight, and they will increase their numbers in a geometric progression." She stood up. "I will take this sample and seal it in an airtight container. Please wait."
As she left the room, Bane got up and went over to look at the fish tank. Some of the creatures were different. The starfish with the eye in its center was gone, but there were some hermit crabs building a pile of small rocks to make a fort. He was watching them when Megan returned. Now she was wearing a dark jumpsuit with pouches and devices built in. Over one arm, she carried a beige topcoat that she pulled on. "We should hurry, captain."
The Dire Wolf faced her. "Megan, there is something you have not told me about this."
"I know you are skilled at reading body language," she said. "Very well. The protein can assume human form and understands spoken language because it has assimilated at least one human being."
Bane scowled, "Yeah, that does put a darker edge on things."
"Your friend Doc Valentine is in imminent danger of being eaten."
"My friend?... well, I can't allow him to be absorbed by a Blob if I can help it."
Megan led the way to the hall. "Is your car outside, Jeremy? No? We will have to use a KDF cruiser. Perhaps I should wake Argent?" She gave him the faintest smile. "No, I would prefer we keep this known to as few as possible."
They went to the walk-in closet by the front door, through a hidden panel in its back and down steep concrete stairs to the basement. Bane remembered when Kenneth Dred had first shown this to him so long ago, before Megan had even been born. They went down a narrow walkway between the vault and the arsenal and opened a plain plank door to the garage. A new cherry-red Jeep Wrangler sat there. "I should drive," she said. "I am making modifications and it does not handle like a regular car."
"I have no problem with that," Bane said, climbing in. First, she went to unhook a fire extinguisher from its rack on the wall and stow it in the back seat. Trom Girl started the Jeep up and went up the ramp with its sharp turn to pull out on Lexington Avenue. She headed toward the West Side Highway where the Bogus had last been seen. Bane started making phone calls to his network of watchers. Over thirty years, he had gathered a large number of people who owed him their lives and who were glad to report odd events to him. Ten minutes later, he hung up. "We're in luck. That was Jimmy the Hook. He saw the unmistakable Doc Valentine in Chelsea. He had some big guy with long hair with him."
"Chelsea it is," Megan said, making an abrupt turn. She seemed to be speeding recklessly to Bane, but he was objective enough to realize he was not used to being a passenger. At 15th Street, she saw a parking spot and slid in and they jumped out. She took out her Link and studied it, while Bane watched her quizzically. Looking up, she explained "The organism has a distinct chemical signature. If we get within twenty meters, I should be able to pick it up." she reached in the back seat and handed the fire extinguisher to him without explanation.
They started walking around, with her attention on the sensors. These are some ritzy buildings, Bane thought, what would Valentine be doing here? He never had money unless... Bogus was committing robberies. Yes, that sounded like something Doc Valentine would pull. Being able to change shape, the Bogus could reach through barriers and under cracks, unlocking doors from inside.
Suddenly, he grabbed Megan and pulled her back into the doorway of a boutique. She looked up, bemused. "what?"
"There they are," he said and pointed across the street, at an outdoor cafe. Sitting in a wrought iron chair was the rotund form of the man who called himself Doc Valentine. He was splendid in a new pearl grey suit with vest, silk tie and bowler hat, sipping a tall glass of something pale yellow. Seated opposite him was a man in plain dark shirt and pants, a man who looked very uncomfortable, as if about to be sick.
Megan Salenger whispered in Bane's ear, "The organism is ready to fission. He will split in two at any moment."
IV.
"We can lure them into that parking lot across the street," Bane said. "Valentine will follow you anywhere, he's a sucker for a pretty face."
She blinked. "You think I'm pretty?"
"You look like Winona Ryder, didn't anyone tell you? I'll wait over there."
As he hurried back down and circled the block to enter the parking lot from the other direction, Megan studied the con man and the synthetic organism. She tugged the lapels of her topcoat, took a deep breath and crossed the street to the cafe. As she approached, Bogus scowled biliously but Valentine grinned with delight.
"Ah, a damsel from the daydreams of the bereft," he said with his crooked grin. "The age of miracles is not over."
"Excuse me. Maybe- maybe you can help me?"
"What mortal flesh can do, I shall. Pray continue."
Trom Girl hesitated. The way this man talked confused her. "Would you come with me? Over there?"
"Ah, the automotive vehicular conumdrum." Valentine stood, pushing back his chair, and motioned for Bogus to remain seated. "I shall return anonce," he whined to his nonhuman partner.
But the synthethic organism lurched up to its feet. It was now in the semblance of a heavy blonde man with long sideburns and a ruddy face. He did not say anything but he came with them despite Valentine's sour look of disapproval. Megan walked with the fat old scoundrel and the artificial life form to the small parking lot of an apartment building. She did not see Bane and concluded he had hidden himself.
"You know, sweetheart," Valentine said, "a winsome lass like yourself could benefit from a man who has read the book of life and knows its secrets.."
She stopped next to a huge black SUV and turned to address the Bogus. "I can not allow you to fission," she said.
"Oh, so you really wish to converse with this galoot," grumbled Valentine. "How fickle."
The Bogus was trembling, its skin had ripples going over it. As she watched, an indentation appeared in its forehead and ran vertically down its length. Trom Girl said, "Captain!"
Stepping around the corner of the SUV, Bane pulled the pin on the fire extinguisher and sprayed bitter cold CO2 on the creature. Frost formed over its surface and it fell to hands and knees. In an instant, it lost its human shape and became a shifting blob of flesh that stiffened and was still. Bane shut the extinguisher off but kept its nozzle aimed at the mass.
"That went well," he said with surprise. "I was expecting a real struggle."
Doc Valentine was sputtering with outrage. "Jeremy, my boy! I am flummoxed at your poor judgement. He was a good friend, a loyal comrade-"
"And cash in your hand," Bane put in. "You got a lot of use out of him, let it go at that."
"Youth ever misunderstands," drawled that nasal voice. "Why, back in my day..."
The Dire Wolf threw a blurring punch that missed that alcoholic nose by a hair's width. Valentine gulped and was silent after that.
"I should turn you in. You have spent the day robbing stores and swiping wallets and God knows what else. But I don't want to spend three hours at police headquarters filling out reports about you. I have to dispose of this monster." He leaned closer. "You must have more cash than usual on you right now. Get out of New York. Go be a threat to morality somewhere else."
Doc Valentine tilted his bowler back. "I've always wanted to see Paris. Miami will do, though." He turned and bowed to Megan. "Charming though you are, I feel it is time to agitate the pavement," and he waddled off.
Trom Girl looked up at Bane. "Was he speaking English?"
"His own variety." The Dire Wolf touched the inert Bogus with the toe of his boot."I suppose we should get this thing in a freezer."
Megan nodded. "It was enjoyable working with you again, captain. I wish you would reconsider and come back to our team."
"Think a minute. You identified this creature, you figured out what would stop it. All I did was carry the fire extinguisher. I think you just proved you're ready to work on your own."
The Trom Girl pouted. Bane weakened and said, "Come on, let's get this thing secured and we can go break strict dietary regimen with some prohibited food."
That made her smile. "Pizza!"
4/20/2013