"Execute Him Again"
May. 18th, 2022 06:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Execute Him Again"
6/11-6/12/1997
I.
He was met at the airport by men from the governor's office. Bane had just retrieved his knapsack from the carousel and was heading for the sliding glass doors through which blinding sunshine flooded across the floor. He saw two men in tan suits, one rather tall and skinny, the other a typical dumpy office drone. They had been waiting for him, and moved toward him immediately.
The Dire Wolf had not tried to take his Smith & Wesson through security, figuring he would pick up a gun as soon as possible, but he did have the matched silver daggers strapped to his forearms beneath his sleeves. They were concealed in high density silicone pads crafted to feel exactly like human muscle to the touch, and so far no one had ever spotted them during a search. Those daggers had been a gift to Bane from Kenneth Dred and he would have given up everything else in life before parting with them. So, although he did not have a gun on him, he was far from unarmed. Not that it mattered at the moment, these two had harmless body language and balance.
The taller of the two men held out his hand and the Dire Wolf shook it grudgingly. "Mr Bane? I'm Tom Hayes and this is Jackson Willets. We've been sent to fill you in on the situation. This way, please, our car is waiting."
"A little ID, maybe?"
"Huh? Oh, certainly. Here. Jackson, show him your card? Satisfied? Good. I recognize you of course from your file. Governor Harkins has told us about the last time you were in Florida." Hayes began steering them toward the doors again. His mirrored sunglasses flashed in the sunlight as they stepped out into high humidity and ninety degree temps. Waiting in the lot was a long black Lincoln Continental with official plates. Bane was ushered into the back seat, where he stowed his knapsack on the floor as he buckled himself in.
"Let's get right to the briefing," the Dire Wolf said as Hayes took the wheel and started the big car rolling. "All I know is that a dangerous fugitive is at large. Give me something to work with."
Now Willets took over. He had a soft, almost apologetic voice. "Philo Adamantios. Career criminal, suspected of over a dozen murders but he finally got convicted on kidnapping charges. Sat in the chair Tuesday morning. It may be the last time anyone is executed that way incidentally, the legislature is working on a bill to introduce death by lethal injection. Everything went as scheduled, he was pronounced dead by the doctor and wheeled down to the morgue for the required autopsy. But then something strange happened. The Medical Examiner was found strangled, his smock and clothing were gone and no sign of Adamantios. The ME's car left the grounds, and the guard who let it pass has been disciplined. Apparently Adamantios and the ME had a superficial resemblance and with sunglasses and a hat, the guard was fooled."
Bane grunted ambiguously and waited for the man to continue.
"So the guard is likely to lose his job and Adamantios is on the run. Here's a strange thing. The chair was examined and it's working perfectly. The doctor who examined Adamantios certifies that the man was dead, and those who witnessed the execution verify that Adamantios received a lethal jolt. The smell of burning flesh and hair is unmistakable, and they verify that the man was dead when they loaded him on a gurney to take him to the morgue." Willets turned around to make eye contact with Bane in the back seat. "So you see, there's something fishy."
"Could be a third party," Bane said. "Someone from Adamantios' gang killed the ME and stole their boss' corpse. That could be who was driving while Adamantios was in the trunk? No, forget it. A visitor or someone on staff would be missing and I'm sure that would have turned up. It's asking too much that someone broke into State Prison successfully the same day someone escaped."
"Oh, the grounds have been searched like never before," said Willets. "Everyone accounted for."
"There have been cases where someone was bribed to sabotage the chair," Bane went on. "The charge was less than fatal and the prisoner was smuggled out later. But you say that doesn't check out, either. The doctor who examined Adamantios has been investigated?"
"Not a trace of anything shady about him," Hayes put in from the driver's seat. "Let me be direct. No natural explanation has been found. The State Police are admitting they hit a wall. The governor suggested that perhaps you might be called in..."
"Unofficially and off the record," the Dire Wolf finished for him. "I know, I know. I will be acting on my own, with no backing." He sighed and shook his head, then added, "You'd think I'd know better by now. I should request SOME sort of authorization in case I face a hundred charges."
For the first time, Willets relaxed and his voice had humor in it. "From everything I've heard of you, Mr Bane, you would never be happy working that way. The Midnight War is what you live for."
The Lincoln pulled into the parking lot of a rather posh-looking seven-story hotel called TARLETON. "We took the liberty of booking rooms for you for the next week. Taxpayers are picking up the tab. Sorry we can't be of any more help."
Bane picked up his knapsack and paused as he started to open his door. "How are the police investigating this?"
"Officially, Adamantios is dead. Death certificate signed by a doctor. As far as we can admit, his corpse was stolen for unknown reasons, but we can't put out an APB for him or even openly conduct a hunt. But you can."
The Dire Wolf got out of the car and leaned toward Willet's open window. "I have a few ideas. I'll keep you informed. This isn't the first time I've chased a dead man."
II.
It turned out the suite of rooms was much more luxurious than he would have liked. A balcony with the Gulf of Mexico just visible in the distance, a bathroom big enough to make a typical NYC apartment, a double bed softer than marshmallow. Bane decided he would sleep on the couch, which at least was firm. He stripped to the waist, folding down the Trom flexible armor and scrubbed his upper body and face with hot soapy water, then rinsed his hair. There was much to do. Tentatively, he figured that Adamantios had some sort of healing factor, like his own but much stronger. Bane could recover from a lot of trauma quickly because of his Tel Shai diet of tagra tea, but he knew he wouldn't just bounce back from sitting in the electric chair. He had limits. Adamantios was hard to kill, perhaps impossible.
Cleaned up a little, the Dire Wolf set up a few objects at precise angles, lining up his knapsack buckle with the remote control on the nightstand so he would be able to tell if anyone had searched the room. It was already two o'clock. He left the suite, took the elevator to the lobby and went outside to get a look at the battlefield. Across the highway was a mall with a Best Buy and a Barnes & Nobel and Target. Adjoining the hotel lot by a connecting road was a supermarket. A hundred yards behind the TARLETON were railroad tracks and beyond them office buildings.
Despite his all-black outfit including long-sleeved turtleneck and sport jacket, Bane hardly noticed the muggy heat. Twenty years of Kumundu training, the tagra diet and near zero body fat had left him able to be comfortable in nearly any environment. He wasn't even sweating. Walking toward the highway thoughtfully, he spotted rows of cars and a string of colored plastic pennants. Perfect. He watched oncoming traffic and sprinted across the four-lane highway so effortlessly that it would have been difficult for a driver to hit him if deliberately trying.
Bane walked around the car dealership, frowning as he saw too many SUVs. He wanted something smaller, more manueverable. As he was going up and down the lines, a stout blonde woman in her early thirties approached him. "Hi, I'm Michelle, can I be of any help?"
"Yes," he said with his usual bluntness. "I want to lease a car for a few days. Maybe a Mustang, something along those lines. This Nissan looks all right." He peered inside to inspect the interior. "30,000 miles. I'm all right with that. I'll take it."
"Don't you want to take it for a test ride, sir?"
"No." That was all. Over the years, Bane had grudgingly learned some manners but he was still far from socially graceful. "Let's get the papers going."
In Michelle's office, Bane impatiently filled out forms and waited for authorization. He was wealthy enough to have bought the dealership if he had wanted to, all he wanted was a car to drive while this case lasted. He had started pacing restlessly long before the final signature was made and he was handed two sets of keys.
"Do you know the area, sir?" Michelle asked, obviously curious about this intense man with the pale eyes and the eagerness to get moving. "Perhaps I can give you a few pointers about what to see while you're here."
"No thanks," Bane said as he headed for the door. "I'm here on business."
Once in the Nissan, the Dire Wolf pulled out onto the highway and headed west. On the flight from New York, he had memorized maps of the city and the surrounding area. Milverton was a good-sized city not far from Pensacola and close to the Louisiana border. He was in that odd handle shape that stretched out under Georgia, as far west as you could get in Floria. He headed for a seedy part of town, where check cashing places and dollar stores and cheap hair salons dominated. There was a pawn shop. He swung into the first available parking spot and jumped out onto the sidewalk.
The window read BITTMAN BROTHERS - GOLD BOUGHT HERE. The display showed everything from a saxophone to stacks of VHS tapes to rows of hunting knives. Bane went inside, and the little bell over the door tinkled to roust a drowsy man behind the register. Remarkably homely, with a nose and chin that almost met like a witch's, hairy arms and neck but a bald spot on his head, the man sat up and peered myopically. "Eh. Hey there. Let me know if you need anything."
"Thanks." Bane went to the back of the store where he had spotted a few shotguns and hunting rifles in a glass cabinet. Locked in a display case were a dozen handguns and he studied them. The Browning looked new, but he had an instinctive dislike of automatics. There was no reason for it, he had never had one jam on him, it was just preference. The best he saw was a Colt .45 revolver with mother-of-pearl grips. That would do. He asked to see it. As the clerk watched with a mixture of amusement and apprehension, Bane took the gun under the brightest light in the store and examined it minutely. He tested its balance, the smoothness of the mechanism, he checked it as throughly as an Air Force technician examining a fighter jet before flight. Finally, he seemed satisfied.
He agreed to the price and paid in cash. No identification was asked for and he didn't volunteer any. "And I'll need ammo, of course. Fifty rounds will do."
"Aw, hell, I'm not supposed to sell that. Local law. Sorry."
The Dire Wolf put more money down on the counter. The clerk heaved an enormous sigh, went behind a counter and came up with a box of cartridges. "I'd deny selling you these, mister, I don't know where you got them."
"Fine with me," Bane said. He stuck the revolver in the back of his belt, put the ammo in a side pocket and left the shop. "Good night," as casually as if he had just bought a newspaper. Now he felt ready to get underway.
III.
After he had received the call from the governor's office the night before, Bane had pulled up all the old KDF files on Adamantios. They had never gone after the man, who was a killer and kidnapper certainly, but they had been hunting bigger game at the time. He found accounts of the trial that had resulted in Adamantios getting the death sentence and found that three members of his gang had turned on him. They had testified against him in exchange for immunity, since they had not taken part in the kidnapping the little boy but had in fact tried to dissuade him. Even on death row, Adamantios had said nothing but threats against his former friends. He had promised them slow agonizing deaths.
Whether the police were pursuing the obvious or not, Bane had decided to track down the three gang members under the assumption Adamantios was doing the same. The addresses he had were a year old and perhaps none of them were there now, but he had to start somewhere. Bane drove down Broadway, saw Elmendorf Street to his left and turned onto it. This was not a good neighborhood. The window air conditioner units were in metal cages to prevent them being stolen, and there was a burned out Chevy sitting in a vacant lot overrun by weeds. At the end of the block stood an ancient brick building badly in need of repair. Leaning up against a doorway was a young Hispanic man in a white T-shirt and jeans. He had long glossy black hair and acne scars and he stood up to head toward Bane with a swagger.
"Whatchu want here, white boy-" he started to say before Bane abruptly drove a tight fist to the solar plexus that drove all the blood from the man's torso. He was already passing out when the Dire Wolf caught him and lowered him to lean against the building without any noticeable gentleness. The kid was gasping from breath and trying to straighten up.
"Okay, this might hurt," Bane said and thumped the heel of his free hand to the base of the young man's neck. With a groan, he slumped completely unconscious. Bane told the unlistening form, "Next time be nicer to out of towners."
Straightening up, the Dire Wolf opened the door where the young man had been standing and a cloud of ripe aromas rolled out. Tobacco, marijuana, beer, spicy cooking, all mixed together. He paused to tug on a pair of thin latex gloves which would not leave fingerprints, then stepped into a short hallway with a flight of stairs at the far end. There was a line of light beneath a door on the second floor landing, and he stepped lightly up the worn wooden steps, placing his boots on the outer edge of edge of each one to prevent creaking. The door to his right had a white index card tacked to it that said 2A. Bane knew instinctively he was on the right trail here, his pulse quickened and all his senses seemed to sharpen up a notch. Pressing up against the door, he slowed his breath so his hearing would grow sharper. In a minute, he could hear voices clearly.
-"This ain't bad, Joey. I always liked black beans and rice."
-"There's lots more, Philo. You got to tell me how you got out. I tried to get in to see you but they wouldn't let me."
The deeper, gravelly voice answered with an element of mockery. "The others ratted me out. Spanish Tom and Baby Blue, they turned evidence against me. But not you, eh Joey?"
-"Naw, I wouldn't do that, Philo. You and me go way back."
Opening the door the barest crack, Bane peered into a shabby room littered with garbage until there seemed no paths to walk. Dirty clothing in piles, half-eaten food and empty bottles, newspapers, it was a disaster. A big man was sitting at a table with his back to the door, shoveling food down as fast as he could. Even from behind, Philo Adamantios was easy to recognize. His clean-shaven head rose to a slight conical shape and big ears stood out on either side like the handles of a jug. As he chewed noisily, Adamantios rumbled, "Not sure I believe you, Joey...."
As Bane watched, a skinny man with long blond hair and drooping mustache circled the table. That would be Joey LaRosa. He had been a heroin addict and dealer for years now, in and out of rehab without effect. Now he came around behind the seated bulk of Adamantios and Bane saw the skinny man was holding a hypodermic needle alongside one arm where it was hidden.
"You gotta trust someone," Joey said as he jabbed the syringe into Adamantios' upper arm and depressed the handle. With a roar, the killer jumped to his feet, knocking the chair over and clutching his arm. He swung a fist but Joey had moved quickly back out of reach.
"Oh, that hurts!" Adamantios yelled. "You little-- you gave me a hot shot, didn't you?"
"Hell yeah. Battery acid. Sorry, Philo, but better you than me." Joey giggled as the hulking form convulsed and fell, hitting his head on the table but not feeling the impact at all. As the body slumped to the filthy floor, the blond man laughed with relief and leaned on the table. Adamantios' fingers twitched and then were still.
Bane pushed the door open and entered the room, saying quietly, "You're under arrest."
Joey LaRosa squawked and jumped straight up, almost losing his footing. He got one look at the cold penetrating stare of those grey eyes and gave up any thought of resistance. Even standing with open hands lowered, there was something intimidating in the calm assurance Bane showed.
"Who ARE you? What are you doing here?" Joey demanded in an unsteady voice.
"Me? I'm a Private Investigator, licensed by the State of New York, and I'm here to bring Philo Adamantios into custody." Keeping a wary eye on Joey, the Dire Wolf reached down to take one wrist of the dead man. No pulse. "I witnessed you give him an injection that evidently killed him. You said, 'battery acid,' which will be used in court against you." Bane stepped closer to the trembling blond man. "I don't have to read you your Miranda rights, because I'm only detaining you until the police arrive. Sit down."
Instead of complying, Joey suddenly took a deep breath and tried to rush past Bane for the open door. The Dire Wolf caught him by a wrist, got his arm bent up behind him and spun him around, trying not to do any harm. "Look, I don't want to hurt you, let's do this the easy way if we can.." Something crashed against Bane's head with murderous impact. Lights flashed and he reeled, letting go of Joey as his instincts made him fade to one side and raise his fists in a defensive posture. Dazed for that second, he had a glimpse of a hate-filled face glaring at him before a savage uppercut exploded right under his jaw. Bane staggered backward from that blow, felt a railing break away beneath him and fell hard down the flight of stairs. He came to a stop face down in the foyer, shaking his head and trying to get up.
Even with his healing factor, there was a period of fifteen or twenty seconds before Bane got back up on his feet. His head was clear, but he saw no sign of Adamantios. Feeling nothing was broken, he placed a hand on the butt of the Colt 45 still jammed in his belt and raced up the stairs. The railing on the second floor landing was hanging down, ripped loose where he had gone through it. Keeping a grip on the revolver, Bane stepped into the room from which he had been thrown less than a minute earlier.
Joey LaRosa was lying on his back, eyes and mouth wide open, with the brown wooden hilt of a common kitchen knife protruding up from the center of his chest. Adamantios was gone. Bane checked Joey, although he was certain the man was dead. That butcher knife had been driven in with considerable force as its point had emerged from between the victim's shoulder blades and left a nick in the floor.
For the next ten minutes, Bane looked for anything that would give him a lead. Joey's wallet was on the floor, and he went through it. No registration or insurance paper for a car, so he couldn't look for Adamantios that way. The place was such a mess that it would take hours to do a proper search and he needed to get going. The Dire Wolf peered out in the hall and saw no sign of any neighbors being curious about the noise. Most likely Joey had been the only resident on this floor.
Before leaving, Bane studied the syringe still lying next to the chair where Adamantios had been seated. The fatal contents of that 'hot shot' the dealers gave informants or undercover cops had not delayed Adamantios for more than a minute or two. A strange chill passed over Bane as he realized that the unkillable killer had survived first the electric chair and now a lethal injection. Adamantios had been executed twice and was still at large.
IV.
Out on the street, he found the Hispanic man was long gone. Bane waited in the shadows of the doorway until no cars were passing, then got into his leased Nissan and took off. A few blocks away, he tugged out his Link and patched into the phone system. Calling the local police anonymously, he gave the address of the murder, reported the dead body and hung up instantly. If someone had seen him or remembered his car at the scene, he could be putting himself in jeopardy but his instincts were that locals would not be helpful to the cops. When a known junkie was found stabbed to death, the conclusion would be a drug deal gone wrong and he felt the investigation would be half-hearted at best.
Getting back on Broadway, the Dire Wolf headed west again. He had two more addresses to check and Adamantios already had a few minutes head start. It was a question of where the killer would go first. Logically, he would head for the nearer address but you never knew... maybe Adamantios hated one member of his old gang worse than he did the other. Maybe one or both had moved since the trial. Bane scowled and decided on continuing with the obvious. The closer address he had was for Spanish Tom, and that was a boarding house on South Beach. It was getting near eleven as he turned and drove in that direction.
Turning the situation over in his mind, Bane reflected that Adamantios had never shown any interest in the occult. He had never been associated with Red Sect or Those Who Remember or any Fanedral cult, he had never been known to dabble with the supernatural at all. The only explanation that came to mind was that Adamantios was one of those individuals whose latent gralic abilities were triggered by extreme stress. Sometimes when a person was in danger of imminent death, those abilities surfaced in the body's attempt to survive. In Adamantios' case, all those volts surging through him had brought his recovery factor into play. Now, when on the verge of dying, gralic force repaired the damage and brought him back in a few minutes.
That was the best theory Bane could come up with for the moment, anyway. Half an hour later, he was moving along a road that led down to a sandy beach with restrictions posted on swimmers. A wooden shack with signs offering hot dogs, hamburgers, cold soda and beer was dark and locked up. Further along the road, three bungalows stood just as dark and seemingly empty. They were not in the best of shape, badly needing fresh paint and minor upkeep, but they matched the address he had in mind. And, half concealed between the buildings, was a white pick-up truck.
Bane pulled over and hurried through the gloom toward the bungalows. Maybe he would be too late to keep Adamantios from killing Spanish Tom, but hopefully he could grab the murderer. He was wondering how much force he would have to use against a tough streetfighter who recovered from injury in a short time, but any thought he could not handle Adamantios never entered his mind. The Dire Wolf's confidence in his own abilities was unshakeable.
Rushing around the corner of the nearest bungalow, he came to a sudden stop at the bizarre sight. Philo Adamantios was dangling from a rope, its noose around his neck and his feet not touching the ground by six or seven inches. The rope was curled around a support beam on the roof, and its other end was being tied to the bumper of the pick-up truck by a fat man in shorts and an oversized yellow T-shirt.
This was so unexpected that even Bane took a second to let it register. Adamantios had been hanged. Somehow the fat man had hoisted him up in the air and was now fastening the rope taut. The Dire Wolf saw that Adamantios had his neck bent to one side and his tongue was sticking out. He sure looked dead. Bane shook his head at how unexpected this twist was, drew the revolver and called to the fat man who had not noticed him yet. "Freeze! Don't move."
The man gave a start and raised his open hands slightly to show he was unarmed. He turned a round moonface with Mexican features toward Bane without moving his body, and fear stood out vividly in his bulging eyes. "Don't shoot, mister, don't shoot me."
"Keep your hands where I can see them. Turn around, that's right. Thomas Velez, Spanish Tom, right? You heard what happened to Adamantios at the prison, right?"
"Yeah, I heard," the man answered. "I know it was some kind of trick, I know the boss escaped somehow, probably bribed someone. And I figured he would be coming for me."
Bane kept the revolver out but lowered its barrel to point at the ground in front of Spanish Tom. "How the hell did you pull that trick?"
"Oh, I been thinking about it. I loop the rope around that beam up there, I sit on the roof waiting. When the boss come up to find me, I throw the noose around his neck, I worked on a ranch in Arizon five years and I can throw lariat, and I jump off. My weight pull him up, neck she break, and I am tying other end to truck when you appear." Spanish Tom seemed eager to explain his cleverness.
"Neat trick," Bane admitted. "You sure couldn't fight Adamantios hand to hand. You don't mind admitting all this?"
"Nah. If I don't kill him, he kill me for sure tonight. If I get arrested, I'm still alive. Better twelve jurors than six pallbearers."
The Dire Wolf snorted. "Well, I admire your ingenuity. I'm going to call the police now. With his free hand, he unclipped the Link from his belt, then saw Spanish Tom's eyes widen even more, staring past him up at the hanging man. Instead of turning to look, Bane moved to one side where he could keep the fat man covered and see what was happening.
Even dangling from that thick rope, Philo Adamantios had grabbed it with one hand to take some of his weight off it and he was sawing through the hemp with a hunting knife seven inches long. As soon as he cut halfway through, his weight broke the rope and he dropped to the sand.
"I suggest you get in your truck," Bane said calmly as he watched the unkillable killer tug the noose from around his neck, where the skin was raw. "You have a few questions to answer," he said to the brute.
"Mister, I don't know you," growled Adamantios. In the dim light, his bald misshapen skull, lantern jaw and protruding ears made him monstrous rather than comical. He had no eyebrows either, and Bane wondered what sort of medical condition the man was afflicted with.
"I'm here to bring you back to State Prison," Bane said, extending the Colt and thumbing back the hammer. "Your revival power is bound to have its limits, don't test how it works against five slugs."
Adamantios responded with a lightning underhand toss of the hunting knife. Bane sidestepped automatically, turning his body sideways to present less of a target, and realized an instant too late that he was not the intended victim. The wide blade slid deep in the chest of Spanish Tom with an audible thump. With a groan, the fat man gripped the protruding hilt and sank to his knees as brilliant red spread across the yellow T-shirt.
"Damn it," muttered Bane, turning to go help the man but stopping instantly as he sensed the onrushing killer charging him. He swung around and fired twice, the heavy Colt making a thunderous noise that echoed from the nearby buildings. Adamantios caught one slug in his abdomen but seemed hardly to notice it as he leaped at Bane in a full tackle. Dropping the gun to have both hands free, Bane seized the killer's left arm and clapped his other hand behind the bald head, using Adamantios' momentum to fling the man in a hip throw that slammed him down to the ground with stunning force. As the killer started to rise, the Dire Wolf blasted a front snap kick that brought his steel-capped toe up under the man's chin. Adamantios fell heavily over on his back.
In that second, Bane had retrieved his gun but he stuck it back in his belt. Bullets weren't the answer. The unkillable killer rolled over on his side, got to his knees and gave the Dire Wolf a venomous glare that had new wariness in it.
"You're going to be a problem," Bane said. "You're like another Samhain. But there's a way to stop you and I'll find it." He took a step toward the killer but paused as he saw a flurry of red and blue flashing lights speeding along the access road toward them. The Dire Wolf reacted instantly, spinning on one foot to smack his heel across Adamantios' face with a noise like a whip cracking. As the killer fell to one side, Bane leaped between bungalows and concealed himself under the truck which still had the severed rope tied to its hitch. In the gloom, wearing his all black outfit, he thought it unlikely the oncoming police would have spotted him yet.
Two squad cars slid to a sudden halt on the sand, their lights bars still flashing but with no sirens. As four uniformed officers jumped out, Philo Adamantios got to his feet and loomed up menacingly. Behind him, the corpse of Spanish Tom sprawled with the knife clearly visible in its chest.
"Freeze!" shouted one of the officers. All four of them had their service revolvers drawn. "You are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent..." His voice broke off as Adamantios laughed harshly and rushed at them. There was a barrage of gunfire, over twenty bullets pounded into the big man's torso and threw him backwards. Even after he hit the sand, a few additional hits made his body twitch.
Of course, thought Bane under the truck. That figures. Electric chair, lethal injection, hanging and now this, a firing squad. Somehow events were making Adamantios face one form of execution after another. He had to warn these cops, they had no idea that the monster would be getting up again in a few minutes. Rolling out from beneath the truck, he took his billfold out and held it open as he showed himself. The police aimed at him instantly but luckily held their fire.
"And who are YOU?" one of them demanded.
Bane held out his billfold with his PI license visible, and an officer stepped closer to inspect it. "Detective from New York. I've been hired to investigate what happened to this man after the botched execution at State Prison." He returned the billfold to the inner pocket of his jacket. "Looks to me like he murdered this poor fellow. I saw him charge you men and you responded. Seems the case is closed."
"So it seems. Bane, huh? Jeremy Bane. I've heard that name. You have a bit of a reputation, buddy."
"It's nice to be recognized," the Dire Wolf replied. "That's Philo Adamantios all right. No mistaking that face." As he spoke, from the corner of his eye he spotted movement and he turned just as the unkillable killer grunted and said up.
"I don't believe it," said one of the cops. "I just plain don't believe it."
An instant later, Adamantios was on his feet and glaring at the guns leveled at him. He did not seem eager to absorb another fusillade. Maybe the bullets couldn't incapacitate him permanently but they weren't a pleasant experience.
"You want to go quietly?" Bane asked.
With a stare of pure hatred, the killer slowly nodded. "Yeah. I give up. All right, pigs, take me in."
Gingerly, with the other three officers covering him, the youngest cop handcuffed the killer's wrists behind his back and shoved him toward the squad car. Another officer was on the radio, calling for forensics to examine the scene and an ambulance for the body of Spanish Tom. Watching, Bane wondered with wry detachment what they would make of the severed hangman's rope.
"You're sticking around to answer questions," a cop told Bane, not as a question.
"Sure. I'll sign a statement and explain what I saw," the Dire Wolf said. Inwardly, he expected to be in for hours of answering the same questions over and over. He hated it, but it was part of the trade. Still, as he watched the car drive away with Adamantios in the rear seat, he wished desperately he was following them. This wasn't over yet.
V.
It was close to three AM when the forensic men finally finished taking photos and samples and measurements, loaded all their equipment in their white van and allowed the EMTs to place the cold remains of Spanish Tom into an ambulance. As the van and the ambulance drove up the access road toward the highway, Jeremy Bane watched with folded arms and Lt Rankin watched him.
Over the years, Bane had amassed as much experience getting through police interrogation as most police inspectors had at giving it. His face and voice gave nothing away, he never volunteered any information he was not directly asked and his answers were deliberate. What helped was that Bane was wealthy enough that he retained the Taylor Worth agency as his legal counsel and that he had been working for so long as an unofficial vigilante that the NYPD and the FBI had gotten used to him and even come to rely on him.
Lt Calvin Rankin was hitting sixty, a sour veteran with a white mustache and steel-rim glasses on a glum face. He had arrived in an unmarked car driven by a plainclothes officer who stood by. After inspecting the scene and discussing it with the forensic squad, Rankin had taken Bane to one side and started the endless questions.
"You're not in New York now, Mr Dire Wolf," Rankin had said at one point. "We have laws for a reason and from what I've heard, you regard laws as mere suggestions. But I got a call from the governor's office to basically let you wander around my state and just keep an eye on you. I don't like it. I think it stinks to high heaven. We are perfectly capable of enforcing the law and protecting our citizens without some wild card like you coming down here to get in the way." He took a breath. "Am I clear?"
The Dire Wolf did not react emotionally. "Your men placed twenty bullets in Adamantios. He was not wearing any protective gear. Within three minutes, he was up and moving around as if he had not been scratched. That's hard to explain."
"I know it's hard to explain!" Rankin bellowed. "Goddam it, don't you think it's driving me crazy? I don't believe in hocus-pocus weirdo nonsense. I'm a cop with my feet on the ground. And now I have to cope with something that just could not have happened!"
"It's going to get worse. I'm sure the FBI is going to take this case away from you."
"I'd like to see them try," Rankin muttered.
"They can do it. Department 21 Black will claim the prisoner and all the evidence and instruct your department to seal all files and just never mention it again." Bane looked at the lieutenant with the same deadpan expression. "They specialize in this sort of thing."
Before Rankin could reply, the plainclothesman called him over to the car to talk on the radio. When he returned, he was shaking with rage and his voice sounded ready to crack. "All right, Bane. You're free to go. You are not being detained as a material witness and I can't even tell you to stay out of police business. But by God I am sure you know a lot more than you have told us and if I can prove it--"
"What was that call?" the Dire Wolf asked. "Adamantios escape?"
"None of your damn business!" screamed Lt Rankin as he got in the unmarked car and slammed the door so hard the window almost broke. As the car took off rapidly, Bane watched until it was just out of sight before walking over to where his Nissan sat. The police had searched it, but there was nothing in it that hadn't been there when the saleswoman had handed him the keys that afternoon. Getting behind the wheel, Bane allowed the faintest of smiles to cross his face at Rankin's fury. He figured the man was facing a situation he could not allow himself to deal with and was going to have to do some massive rationalization to cope.
Heading up the highway, the Dire Wolf drove toward the last address he had for the members of Adamantious' gang. He felt sure that that the radio call Rankin had taken was about the unkillable man getting loose and probably murdering an officer or two in the process. That meant Adamantios would be continue on his agenda, which meant Baby Blue would be next to get a visit. Just over the speed limit, Bane moved west on I-99 as dawn began to streak the sky behind him.
It took half an hour to find the building where Baby Blue had last been known to reside. Sitting by itself along the highway, it looked like it had once been a gift shop or antiques store that had been slightly rebuilt for residence. The big picture window had drapes on the inside, and steps going up to the side door had a railing. Parked behind the building was an old red Dodge Ram with the hood up and a few tools scattered around it.
Bane parked the Nissan and surveyed the area before getting out. He circled the building and saw a light on in what would be the bathroom. As he headed for the door, that light went out. Bane pressed the doorbell and heard the chimes inside, then a voice grumbling as the door opened a crack.
"Yeah? What?" came an unwelcoming voice.
"Your life is in danger," Bane said. "Philo Adamantios is loose. Spanish Tom and Joey are already dead."
The door swung open and a short black man in a bathrobe was pointing a Glock 19 right at Bane's chest. "The hell you say." Baby Blue was not intimidating aside from the gun, being slight in build and with a bland face that had big brown eyes under heavy brows. The hand that held that gun was rock steady, though.
"He might be here any moment," the Dire Wolf continued as if he had not noticed the Glock. "You're the final name on his hit list."
"And who might you be?" Baby Blue demanded. "You with the Po-leese?"
"I'm a detective hired to find him." Bane reached up and casually pushed the gunhand down so the barrel was pointing at the ground. "I strongly suggest you get away from here right now."
Baby Blue glanced over at his truck. "I ain't goin' nowhere in that beast unless you got a new water pump."
"I'll take you," Bane said. "But we better hurry..." As he spoke, he saw a police black & white come tearing along the road and swerve violently onto the property. Drawing his own gun, he said quietly, "Too late."
Adamantious jumped out from behind the wheel and thundered toward them. His white dress shirt hung in bloody tatters and his hideous face was split by a wicked grin. Whatever had animated the killer and given him his revival powers seemed to be changing him further. His leer went beyond normal criminal insanity. There was the singleminded focus of a predator in his eyes. When he was only twenty feet away, Bane snapped off four shots that smashed Adamantious' head out of shape into a red splatter. The killer spun around and fell to the ground.
"Dayum," said Baby Blue as if to himself.
"The worst part is, I don't think that will stop him for long. He's already been shot twenty times tonight and he keeps shaking it off." Bane took cartridges from the box in his coat pocket and reloaded the Colt revolver. "Listen, do you have a hatchet? An axe?"
"Sure, I got an axe round back with the shovel and rake."
"I want you to go get it," Bane told him. "I'll watch Adamantios. Hurry."
"Mister, I don't know who you are or why you want an axe, but I don't believe I'm inclined to argue." Baby Blue had lowered his Glock and seemed hardly aware he was holding it. The speed and accuracy with what Bane had fired seemed to have awed him and he was acting terrified of this strange white man with those icy cold eyes.
As Baby Blue stepped around his house, Bane glanced over at him and that was the opening Adamantios needed. The unkillable man heaved up off the ground, still covered with blood but with his head back to normal. He tackled the Dire Wolf headlong, bringing them both to the ground. One powerful hand closed around Bane's wrist, yanking the gunhand far off to one side. Even as they fell, Bane brought a knee up and drove Adamantios off him. In an instant, he had rolled and jumped up, and as the killer got up on one knee, the Dire Wolf kicked him hard right on the side of the head. Adamantios fell sideways but wasn't hurt.
Bane got the man stomach side down, stamping a boot between his shoulder blades and yanking one arm straight up, twisting it mercilessly. He had pinned the killer down in a way where Adamantios could not get leverage or kick enough to get loose. In his free hand, Bane still held the Colt but he hesitated to shoot. What good would it do? The Dire Wolf pulled harder, dislocating Adamantios' arm, and he moved his other foot to hold the killer's other arm down as well.
Watching all this, Baby Blue hefted the axe he had fetched. "I saw it. I know, he's a hant. My gramma told me about them, they is cursed and there is only one way they can die." The small black man did not hesitate. He lifted the axe up overhead and brought it down with all the strength in his arms, missing Bane by inches as the heavy blade chopped cleanly through the Adamantios' neck. That misshapen hairless head spun away and rolled a few feet. Under Bane's foot, the muscular body convulsed once and went utterly limp.
"I think that did it," the Dire Wolf said. He tentatively stepped back away from the corpse. Baby Blue was breathing heavily, still gripping the axe as a dark sedan pulled into his yard. From behind the wheel, the plainclothes officer got up, service revolver pointed exactly between Bane and Baby Blue. From the passenger side, Lt Rankin straightened up and yelled, "Neither of you move! I mean it. I saw the whole thing. You beheaded that man like an execution."
"Exactly like an execution," the Dire Wolf agreed with sudden weariness. "Adamantious survived the electric chair. He survived lethal injection and hanging and a firing squad." He stared down at the headless corpse at his feet. "Looks like this was the form of execution that finally worked."
1/26/2015
6/11-6/12/1997
I.
He was met at the airport by men from the governor's office. Bane had just retrieved his knapsack from the carousel and was heading for the sliding glass doors through which blinding sunshine flooded across the floor. He saw two men in tan suits, one rather tall and skinny, the other a typical dumpy office drone. They had been waiting for him, and moved toward him immediately.
The Dire Wolf had not tried to take his Smith & Wesson through security, figuring he would pick up a gun as soon as possible, but he did have the matched silver daggers strapped to his forearms beneath his sleeves. They were concealed in high density silicone pads crafted to feel exactly like human muscle to the touch, and so far no one had ever spotted them during a search. Those daggers had been a gift to Bane from Kenneth Dred and he would have given up everything else in life before parting with them. So, although he did not have a gun on him, he was far from unarmed. Not that it mattered at the moment, these two had harmless body language and balance.
The taller of the two men held out his hand and the Dire Wolf shook it grudgingly. "Mr Bane? I'm Tom Hayes and this is Jackson Willets. We've been sent to fill you in on the situation. This way, please, our car is waiting."
"A little ID, maybe?"
"Huh? Oh, certainly. Here. Jackson, show him your card? Satisfied? Good. I recognize you of course from your file. Governor Harkins has told us about the last time you were in Florida." Hayes began steering them toward the doors again. His mirrored sunglasses flashed in the sunlight as they stepped out into high humidity and ninety degree temps. Waiting in the lot was a long black Lincoln Continental with official plates. Bane was ushered into the back seat, where he stowed his knapsack on the floor as he buckled himself in.
"Let's get right to the briefing," the Dire Wolf said as Hayes took the wheel and started the big car rolling. "All I know is that a dangerous fugitive is at large. Give me something to work with."
Now Willets took over. He had a soft, almost apologetic voice. "Philo Adamantios. Career criminal, suspected of over a dozen murders but he finally got convicted on kidnapping charges. Sat in the chair Tuesday morning. It may be the last time anyone is executed that way incidentally, the legislature is working on a bill to introduce death by lethal injection. Everything went as scheduled, he was pronounced dead by the doctor and wheeled down to the morgue for the required autopsy. But then something strange happened. The Medical Examiner was found strangled, his smock and clothing were gone and no sign of Adamantios. The ME's car left the grounds, and the guard who let it pass has been disciplined. Apparently Adamantios and the ME had a superficial resemblance and with sunglasses and a hat, the guard was fooled."
Bane grunted ambiguously and waited for the man to continue.
"So the guard is likely to lose his job and Adamantios is on the run. Here's a strange thing. The chair was examined and it's working perfectly. The doctor who examined Adamantios certifies that the man was dead, and those who witnessed the execution verify that Adamantios received a lethal jolt. The smell of burning flesh and hair is unmistakable, and they verify that the man was dead when they loaded him on a gurney to take him to the morgue." Willets turned around to make eye contact with Bane in the back seat. "So you see, there's something fishy."
"Could be a third party," Bane said. "Someone from Adamantios' gang killed the ME and stole their boss' corpse. That could be who was driving while Adamantios was in the trunk? No, forget it. A visitor or someone on staff would be missing and I'm sure that would have turned up. It's asking too much that someone broke into State Prison successfully the same day someone escaped."
"Oh, the grounds have been searched like never before," said Willets. "Everyone accounted for."
"There have been cases where someone was bribed to sabotage the chair," Bane went on. "The charge was less than fatal and the prisoner was smuggled out later. But you say that doesn't check out, either. The doctor who examined Adamantios has been investigated?"
"Not a trace of anything shady about him," Hayes put in from the driver's seat. "Let me be direct. No natural explanation has been found. The State Police are admitting they hit a wall. The governor suggested that perhaps you might be called in..."
"Unofficially and off the record," the Dire Wolf finished for him. "I know, I know. I will be acting on my own, with no backing." He sighed and shook his head, then added, "You'd think I'd know better by now. I should request SOME sort of authorization in case I face a hundred charges."
For the first time, Willets relaxed and his voice had humor in it. "From everything I've heard of you, Mr Bane, you would never be happy working that way. The Midnight War is what you live for."
The Lincoln pulled into the parking lot of a rather posh-looking seven-story hotel called TARLETON. "We took the liberty of booking rooms for you for the next week. Taxpayers are picking up the tab. Sorry we can't be of any more help."
Bane picked up his knapsack and paused as he started to open his door. "How are the police investigating this?"
"Officially, Adamantios is dead. Death certificate signed by a doctor. As far as we can admit, his corpse was stolen for unknown reasons, but we can't put out an APB for him or even openly conduct a hunt. But you can."
The Dire Wolf got out of the car and leaned toward Willet's open window. "I have a few ideas. I'll keep you informed. This isn't the first time I've chased a dead man."
II.
It turned out the suite of rooms was much more luxurious than he would have liked. A balcony with the Gulf of Mexico just visible in the distance, a bathroom big enough to make a typical NYC apartment, a double bed softer than marshmallow. Bane decided he would sleep on the couch, which at least was firm. He stripped to the waist, folding down the Trom flexible armor and scrubbed his upper body and face with hot soapy water, then rinsed his hair. There was much to do. Tentatively, he figured that Adamantios had some sort of healing factor, like his own but much stronger. Bane could recover from a lot of trauma quickly because of his Tel Shai diet of tagra tea, but he knew he wouldn't just bounce back from sitting in the electric chair. He had limits. Adamantios was hard to kill, perhaps impossible.
Cleaned up a little, the Dire Wolf set up a few objects at precise angles, lining up his knapsack buckle with the remote control on the nightstand so he would be able to tell if anyone had searched the room. It was already two o'clock. He left the suite, took the elevator to the lobby and went outside to get a look at the battlefield. Across the highway was a mall with a Best Buy and a Barnes & Nobel and Target. Adjoining the hotel lot by a connecting road was a supermarket. A hundred yards behind the TARLETON were railroad tracks and beyond them office buildings.
Despite his all-black outfit including long-sleeved turtleneck and sport jacket, Bane hardly noticed the muggy heat. Twenty years of Kumundu training, the tagra diet and near zero body fat had left him able to be comfortable in nearly any environment. He wasn't even sweating. Walking toward the highway thoughtfully, he spotted rows of cars and a string of colored plastic pennants. Perfect. He watched oncoming traffic and sprinted across the four-lane highway so effortlessly that it would have been difficult for a driver to hit him if deliberately trying.
Bane walked around the car dealership, frowning as he saw too many SUVs. He wanted something smaller, more manueverable. As he was going up and down the lines, a stout blonde woman in her early thirties approached him. "Hi, I'm Michelle, can I be of any help?"
"Yes," he said with his usual bluntness. "I want to lease a car for a few days. Maybe a Mustang, something along those lines. This Nissan looks all right." He peered inside to inspect the interior. "30,000 miles. I'm all right with that. I'll take it."
"Don't you want to take it for a test ride, sir?"
"No." That was all. Over the years, Bane had grudgingly learned some manners but he was still far from socially graceful. "Let's get the papers going."
In Michelle's office, Bane impatiently filled out forms and waited for authorization. He was wealthy enough to have bought the dealership if he had wanted to, all he wanted was a car to drive while this case lasted. He had started pacing restlessly long before the final signature was made and he was handed two sets of keys.
"Do you know the area, sir?" Michelle asked, obviously curious about this intense man with the pale eyes and the eagerness to get moving. "Perhaps I can give you a few pointers about what to see while you're here."
"No thanks," Bane said as he headed for the door. "I'm here on business."
Once in the Nissan, the Dire Wolf pulled out onto the highway and headed west. On the flight from New York, he had memorized maps of the city and the surrounding area. Milverton was a good-sized city not far from Pensacola and close to the Louisiana border. He was in that odd handle shape that stretched out under Georgia, as far west as you could get in Floria. He headed for a seedy part of town, where check cashing places and dollar stores and cheap hair salons dominated. There was a pawn shop. He swung into the first available parking spot and jumped out onto the sidewalk.
The window read BITTMAN BROTHERS - GOLD BOUGHT HERE. The display showed everything from a saxophone to stacks of VHS tapes to rows of hunting knives. Bane went inside, and the little bell over the door tinkled to roust a drowsy man behind the register. Remarkably homely, with a nose and chin that almost met like a witch's, hairy arms and neck but a bald spot on his head, the man sat up and peered myopically. "Eh. Hey there. Let me know if you need anything."
"Thanks." Bane went to the back of the store where he had spotted a few shotguns and hunting rifles in a glass cabinet. Locked in a display case were a dozen handguns and he studied them. The Browning looked new, but he had an instinctive dislike of automatics. There was no reason for it, he had never had one jam on him, it was just preference. The best he saw was a Colt .45 revolver with mother-of-pearl grips. That would do. He asked to see it. As the clerk watched with a mixture of amusement and apprehension, Bane took the gun under the brightest light in the store and examined it minutely. He tested its balance, the smoothness of the mechanism, he checked it as throughly as an Air Force technician examining a fighter jet before flight. Finally, he seemed satisfied.
He agreed to the price and paid in cash. No identification was asked for and he didn't volunteer any. "And I'll need ammo, of course. Fifty rounds will do."
"Aw, hell, I'm not supposed to sell that. Local law. Sorry."
The Dire Wolf put more money down on the counter. The clerk heaved an enormous sigh, went behind a counter and came up with a box of cartridges. "I'd deny selling you these, mister, I don't know where you got them."
"Fine with me," Bane said. He stuck the revolver in the back of his belt, put the ammo in a side pocket and left the shop. "Good night," as casually as if he had just bought a newspaper. Now he felt ready to get underway.
III.
After he had received the call from the governor's office the night before, Bane had pulled up all the old KDF files on Adamantios. They had never gone after the man, who was a killer and kidnapper certainly, but they had been hunting bigger game at the time. He found accounts of the trial that had resulted in Adamantios getting the death sentence and found that three members of his gang had turned on him. They had testified against him in exchange for immunity, since they had not taken part in the kidnapping the little boy but had in fact tried to dissuade him. Even on death row, Adamantios had said nothing but threats against his former friends. He had promised them slow agonizing deaths.
Whether the police were pursuing the obvious or not, Bane had decided to track down the three gang members under the assumption Adamantios was doing the same. The addresses he had were a year old and perhaps none of them were there now, but he had to start somewhere. Bane drove down Broadway, saw Elmendorf Street to his left and turned onto it. This was not a good neighborhood. The window air conditioner units were in metal cages to prevent them being stolen, and there was a burned out Chevy sitting in a vacant lot overrun by weeds. At the end of the block stood an ancient brick building badly in need of repair. Leaning up against a doorway was a young Hispanic man in a white T-shirt and jeans. He had long glossy black hair and acne scars and he stood up to head toward Bane with a swagger.
"Whatchu want here, white boy-" he started to say before Bane abruptly drove a tight fist to the solar plexus that drove all the blood from the man's torso. He was already passing out when the Dire Wolf caught him and lowered him to lean against the building without any noticeable gentleness. The kid was gasping from breath and trying to straighten up.
"Okay, this might hurt," Bane said and thumped the heel of his free hand to the base of the young man's neck. With a groan, he slumped completely unconscious. Bane told the unlistening form, "Next time be nicer to out of towners."
Straightening up, the Dire Wolf opened the door where the young man had been standing and a cloud of ripe aromas rolled out. Tobacco, marijuana, beer, spicy cooking, all mixed together. He paused to tug on a pair of thin latex gloves which would not leave fingerprints, then stepped into a short hallway with a flight of stairs at the far end. There was a line of light beneath a door on the second floor landing, and he stepped lightly up the worn wooden steps, placing his boots on the outer edge of edge of each one to prevent creaking. The door to his right had a white index card tacked to it that said 2A. Bane knew instinctively he was on the right trail here, his pulse quickened and all his senses seemed to sharpen up a notch. Pressing up against the door, he slowed his breath so his hearing would grow sharper. In a minute, he could hear voices clearly.
-"This ain't bad, Joey. I always liked black beans and rice."
-"There's lots more, Philo. You got to tell me how you got out. I tried to get in to see you but they wouldn't let me."
The deeper, gravelly voice answered with an element of mockery. "The others ratted me out. Spanish Tom and Baby Blue, they turned evidence against me. But not you, eh Joey?"
-"Naw, I wouldn't do that, Philo. You and me go way back."
Opening the door the barest crack, Bane peered into a shabby room littered with garbage until there seemed no paths to walk. Dirty clothing in piles, half-eaten food and empty bottles, newspapers, it was a disaster. A big man was sitting at a table with his back to the door, shoveling food down as fast as he could. Even from behind, Philo Adamantios was easy to recognize. His clean-shaven head rose to a slight conical shape and big ears stood out on either side like the handles of a jug. As he chewed noisily, Adamantios rumbled, "Not sure I believe you, Joey...."
As Bane watched, a skinny man with long blond hair and drooping mustache circled the table. That would be Joey LaRosa. He had been a heroin addict and dealer for years now, in and out of rehab without effect. Now he came around behind the seated bulk of Adamantios and Bane saw the skinny man was holding a hypodermic needle alongside one arm where it was hidden.
"You gotta trust someone," Joey said as he jabbed the syringe into Adamantios' upper arm and depressed the handle. With a roar, the killer jumped to his feet, knocking the chair over and clutching his arm. He swung a fist but Joey had moved quickly back out of reach.
"Oh, that hurts!" Adamantios yelled. "You little-- you gave me a hot shot, didn't you?"
"Hell yeah. Battery acid. Sorry, Philo, but better you than me." Joey giggled as the hulking form convulsed and fell, hitting his head on the table but not feeling the impact at all. As the body slumped to the filthy floor, the blond man laughed with relief and leaned on the table. Adamantios' fingers twitched and then were still.
Bane pushed the door open and entered the room, saying quietly, "You're under arrest."
Joey LaRosa squawked and jumped straight up, almost losing his footing. He got one look at the cold penetrating stare of those grey eyes and gave up any thought of resistance. Even standing with open hands lowered, there was something intimidating in the calm assurance Bane showed.
"Who ARE you? What are you doing here?" Joey demanded in an unsteady voice.
"Me? I'm a Private Investigator, licensed by the State of New York, and I'm here to bring Philo Adamantios into custody." Keeping a wary eye on Joey, the Dire Wolf reached down to take one wrist of the dead man. No pulse. "I witnessed you give him an injection that evidently killed him. You said, 'battery acid,' which will be used in court against you." Bane stepped closer to the trembling blond man. "I don't have to read you your Miranda rights, because I'm only detaining you until the police arrive. Sit down."
Instead of complying, Joey suddenly took a deep breath and tried to rush past Bane for the open door. The Dire Wolf caught him by a wrist, got his arm bent up behind him and spun him around, trying not to do any harm. "Look, I don't want to hurt you, let's do this the easy way if we can.." Something crashed against Bane's head with murderous impact. Lights flashed and he reeled, letting go of Joey as his instincts made him fade to one side and raise his fists in a defensive posture. Dazed for that second, he had a glimpse of a hate-filled face glaring at him before a savage uppercut exploded right under his jaw. Bane staggered backward from that blow, felt a railing break away beneath him and fell hard down the flight of stairs. He came to a stop face down in the foyer, shaking his head and trying to get up.
Even with his healing factor, there was a period of fifteen or twenty seconds before Bane got back up on his feet. His head was clear, but he saw no sign of Adamantios. Feeling nothing was broken, he placed a hand on the butt of the Colt 45 still jammed in his belt and raced up the stairs. The railing on the second floor landing was hanging down, ripped loose where he had gone through it. Keeping a grip on the revolver, Bane stepped into the room from which he had been thrown less than a minute earlier.
Joey LaRosa was lying on his back, eyes and mouth wide open, with the brown wooden hilt of a common kitchen knife protruding up from the center of his chest. Adamantios was gone. Bane checked Joey, although he was certain the man was dead. That butcher knife had been driven in with considerable force as its point had emerged from between the victim's shoulder blades and left a nick in the floor.
For the next ten minutes, Bane looked for anything that would give him a lead. Joey's wallet was on the floor, and he went through it. No registration or insurance paper for a car, so he couldn't look for Adamantios that way. The place was such a mess that it would take hours to do a proper search and he needed to get going. The Dire Wolf peered out in the hall and saw no sign of any neighbors being curious about the noise. Most likely Joey had been the only resident on this floor.
Before leaving, Bane studied the syringe still lying next to the chair where Adamantios had been seated. The fatal contents of that 'hot shot' the dealers gave informants or undercover cops had not delayed Adamantios for more than a minute or two. A strange chill passed over Bane as he realized that the unkillable killer had survived first the electric chair and now a lethal injection. Adamantios had been executed twice and was still at large.
IV.
Out on the street, he found the Hispanic man was long gone. Bane waited in the shadows of the doorway until no cars were passing, then got into his leased Nissan and took off. A few blocks away, he tugged out his Link and patched into the phone system. Calling the local police anonymously, he gave the address of the murder, reported the dead body and hung up instantly. If someone had seen him or remembered his car at the scene, he could be putting himself in jeopardy but his instincts were that locals would not be helpful to the cops. When a known junkie was found stabbed to death, the conclusion would be a drug deal gone wrong and he felt the investigation would be half-hearted at best.
Getting back on Broadway, the Dire Wolf headed west again. He had two more addresses to check and Adamantios already had a few minutes head start. It was a question of where the killer would go first. Logically, he would head for the nearer address but you never knew... maybe Adamantios hated one member of his old gang worse than he did the other. Maybe one or both had moved since the trial. Bane scowled and decided on continuing with the obvious. The closer address he had was for Spanish Tom, and that was a boarding house on South Beach. It was getting near eleven as he turned and drove in that direction.
Turning the situation over in his mind, Bane reflected that Adamantios had never shown any interest in the occult. He had never been associated with Red Sect or Those Who Remember or any Fanedral cult, he had never been known to dabble with the supernatural at all. The only explanation that came to mind was that Adamantios was one of those individuals whose latent gralic abilities were triggered by extreme stress. Sometimes when a person was in danger of imminent death, those abilities surfaced in the body's attempt to survive. In Adamantios' case, all those volts surging through him had brought his recovery factor into play. Now, when on the verge of dying, gralic force repaired the damage and brought him back in a few minutes.
That was the best theory Bane could come up with for the moment, anyway. Half an hour later, he was moving along a road that led down to a sandy beach with restrictions posted on swimmers. A wooden shack with signs offering hot dogs, hamburgers, cold soda and beer was dark and locked up. Further along the road, three bungalows stood just as dark and seemingly empty. They were not in the best of shape, badly needing fresh paint and minor upkeep, but they matched the address he had in mind. And, half concealed between the buildings, was a white pick-up truck.
Bane pulled over and hurried through the gloom toward the bungalows. Maybe he would be too late to keep Adamantios from killing Spanish Tom, but hopefully he could grab the murderer. He was wondering how much force he would have to use against a tough streetfighter who recovered from injury in a short time, but any thought he could not handle Adamantios never entered his mind. The Dire Wolf's confidence in his own abilities was unshakeable.
Rushing around the corner of the nearest bungalow, he came to a sudden stop at the bizarre sight. Philo Adamantios was dangling from a rope, its noose around his neck and his feet not touching the ground by six or seven inches. The rope was curled around a support beam on the roof, and its other end was being tied to the bumper of the pick-up truck by a fat man in shorts and an oversized yellow T-shirt.
This was so unexpected that even Bane took a second to let it register. Adamantios had been hanged. Somehow the fat man had hoisted him up in the air and was now fastening the rope taut. The Dire Wolf saw that Adamantios had his neck bent to one side and his tongue was sticking out. He sure looked dead. Bane shook his head at how unexpected this twist was, drew the revolver and called to the fat man who had not noticed him yet. "Freeze! Don't move."
The man gave a start and raised his open hands slightly to show he was unarmed. He turned a round moonface with Mexican features toward Bane without moving his body, and fear stood out vividly in his bulging eyes. "Don't shoot, mister, don't shoot me."
"Keep your hands where I can see them. Turn around, that's right. Thomas Velez, Spanish Tom, right? You heard what happened to Adamantios at the prison, right?"
"Yeah, I heard," the man answered. "I know it was some kind of trick, I know the boss escaped somehow, probably bribed someone. And I figured he would be coming for me."
Bane kept the revolver out but lowered its barrel to point at the ground in front of Spanish Tom. "How the hell did you pull that trick?"
"Oh, I been thinking about it. I loop the rope around that beam up there, I sit on the roof waiting. When the boss come up to find me, I throw the noose around his neck, I worked on a ranch in Arizon five years and I can throw lariat, and I jump off. My weight pull him up, neck she break, and I am tying other end to truck when you appear." Spanish Tom seemed eager to explain his cleverness.
"Neat trick," Bane admitted. "You sure couldn't fight Adamantios hand to hand. You don't mind admitting all this?"
"Nah. If I don't kill him, he kill me for sure tonight. If I get arrested, I'm still alive. Better twelve jurors than six pallbearers."
The Dire Wolf snorted. "Well, I admire your ingenuity. I'm going to call the police now. With his free hand, he unclipped the Link from his belt, then saw Spanish Tom's eyes widen even more, staring past him up at the hanging man. Instead of turning to look, Bane moved to one side where he could keep the fat man covered and see what was happening.
Even dangling from that thick rope, Philo Adamantios had grabbed it with one hand to take some of his weight off it and he was sawing through the hemp with a hunting knife seven inches long. As soon as he cut halfway through, his weight broke the rope and he dropped to the sand.
"I suggest you get in your truck," Bane said calmly as he watched the unkillable killer tug the noose from around his neck, where the skin was raw. "You have a few questions to answer," he said to the brute.
"Mister, I don't know you," growled Adamantios. In the dim light, his bald misshapen skull, lantern jaw and protruding ears made him monstrous rather than comical. He had no eyebrows either, and Bane wondered what sort of medical condition the man was afflicted with.
"I'm here to bring you back to State Prison," Bane said, extending the Colt and thumbing back the hammer. "Your revival power is bound to have its limits, don't test how it works against five slugs."
Adamantios responded with a lightning underhand toss of the hunting knife. Bane sidestepped automatically, turning his body sideways to present less of a target, and realized an instant too late that he was not the intended victim. The wide blade slid deep in the chest of Spanish Tom with an audible thump. With a groan, the fat man gripped the protruding hilt and sank to his knees as brilliant red spread across the yellow T-shirt.
"Damn it," muttered Bane, turning to go help the man but stopping instantly as he sensed the onrushing killer charging him. He swung around and fired twice, the heavy Colt making a thunderous noise that echoed from the nearby buildings. Adamantios caught one slug in his abdomen but seemed hardly to notice it as he leaped at Bane in a full tackle. Dropping the gun to have both hands free, Bane seized the killer's left arm and clapped his other hand behind the bald head, using Adamantios' momentum to fling the man in a hip throw that slammed him down to the ground with stunning force. As the killer started to rise, the Dire Wolf blasted a front snap kick that brought his steel-capped toe up under the man's chin. Adamantios fell heavily over on his back.
In that second, Bane had retrieved his gun but he stuck it back in his belt. Bullets weren't the answer. The unkillable killer rolled over on his side, got to his knees and gave the Dire Wolf a venomous glare that had new wariness in it.
"You're going to be a problem," Bane said. "You're like another Samhain. But there's a way to stop you and I'll find it." He took a step toward the killer but paused as he saw a flurry of red and blue flashing lights speeding along the access road toward them. The Dire Wolf reacted instantly, spinning on one foot to smack his heel across Adamantios' face with a noise like a whip cracking. As the killer fell to one side, Bane leaped between bungalows and concealed himself under the truck which still had the severed rope tied to its hitch. In the gloom, wearing his all black outfit, he thought it unlikely the oncoming police would have spotted him yet.
Two squad cars slid to a sudden halt on the sand, their lights bars still flashing but with no sirens. As four uniformed officers jumped out, Philo Adamantios got to his feet and loomed up menacingly. Behind him, the corpse of Spanish Tom sprawled with the knife clearly visible in its chest.
"Freeze!" shouted one of the officers. All four of them had their service revolvers drawn. "You are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent..." His voice broke off as Adamantios laughed harshly and rushed at them. There was a barrage of gunfire, over twenty bullets pounded into the big man's torso and threw him backwards. Even after he hit the sand, a few additional hits made his body twitch.
Of course, thought Bane under the truck. That figures. Electric chair, lethal injection, hanging and now this, a firing squad. Somehow events were making Adamantios face one form of execution after another. He had to warn these cops, they had no idea that the monster would be getting up again in a few minutes. Rolling out from beneath the truck, he took his billfold out and held it open as he showed himself. The police aimed at him instantly but luckily held their fire.
"And who are YOU?" one of them demanded.
Bane held out his billfold with his PI license visible, and an officer stepped closer to inspect it. "Detective from New York. I've been hired to investigate what happened to this man after the botched execution at State Prison." He returned the billfold to the inner pocket of his jacket. "Looks to me like he murdered this poor fellow. I saw him charge you men and you responded. Seems the case is closed."
"So it seems. Bane, huh? Jeremy Bane. I've heard that name. You have a bit of a reputation, buddy."
"It's nice to be recognized," the Dire Wolf replied. "That's Philo Adamantios all right. No mistaking that face." As he spoke, from the corner of his eye he spotted movement and he turned just as the unkillable killer grunted and said up.
"I don't believe it," said one of the cops. "I just plain don't believe it."
An instant later, Adamantios was on his feet and glaring at the guns leveled at him. He did not seem eager to absorb another fusillade. Maybe the bullets couldn't incapacitate him permanently but they weren't a pleasant experience.
"You want to go quietly?" Bane asked.
With a stare of pure hatred, the killer slowly nodded. "Yeah. I give up. All right, pigs, take me in."
Gingerly, with the other three officers covering him, the youngest cop handcuffed the killer's wrists behind his back and shoved him toward the squad car. Another officer was on the radio, calling for forensics to examine the scene and an ambulance for the body of Spanish Tom. Watching, Bane wondered with wry detachment what they would make of the severed hangman's rope.
"You're sticking around to answer questions," a cop told Bane, not as a question.
"Sure. I'll sign a statement and explain what I saw," the Dire Wolf said. Inwardly, he expected to be in for hours of answering the same questions over and over. He hated it, but it was part of the trade. Still, as he watched the car drive away with Adamantios in the rear seat, he wished desperately he was following them. This wasn't over yet.
V.
It was close to three AM when the forensic men finally finished taking photos and samples and measurements, loaded all their equipment in their white van and allowed the EMTs to place the cold remains of Spanish Tom into an ambulance. As the van and the ambulance drove up the access road toward the highway, Jeremy Bane watched with folded arms and Lt Rankin watched him.
Over the years, Bane had amassed as much experience getting through police interrogation as most police inspectors had at giving it. His face and voice gave nothing away, he never volunteered any information he was not directly asked and his answers were deliberate. What helped was that Bane was wealthy enough that he retained the Taylor Worth agency as his legal counsel and that he had been working for so long as an unofficial vigilante that the NYPD and the FBI had gotten used to him and even come to rely on him.
Lt Calvin Rankin was hitting sixty, a sour veteran with a white mustache and steel-rim glasses on a glum face. He had arrived in an unmarked car driven by a plainclothes officer who stood by. After inspecting the scene and discussing it with the forensic squad, Rankin had taken Bane to one side and started the endless questions.
"You're not in New York now, Mr Dire Wolf," Rankin had said at one point. "We have laws for a reason and from what I've heard, you regard laws as mere suggestions. But I got a call from the governor's office to basically let you wander around my state and just keep an eye on you. I don't like it. I think it stinks to high heaven. We are perfectly capable of enforcing the law and protecting our citizens without some wild card like you coming down here to get in the way." He took a breath. "Am I clear?"
The Dire Wolf did not react emotionally. "Your men placed twenty bullets in Adamantios. He was not wearing any protective gear. Within three minutes, he was up and moving around as if he had not been scratched. That's hard to explain."
"I know it's hard to explain!" Rankin bellowed. "Goddam it, don't you think it's driving me crazy? I don't believe in hocus-pocus weirdo nonsense. I'm a cop with my feet on the ground. And now I have to cope with something that just could not have happened!"
"It's going to get worse. I'm sure the FBI is going to take this case away from you."
"I'd like to see them try," Rankin muttered.
"They can do it. Department 21 Black will claim the prisoner and all the evidence and instruct your department to seal all files and just never mention it again." Bane looked at the lieutenant with the same deadpan expression. "They specialize in this sort of thing."
Before Rankin could reply, the plainclothesman called him over to the car to talk on the radio. When he returned, he was shaking with rage and his voice sounded ready to crack. "All right, Bane. You're free to go. You are not being detained as a material witness and I can't even tell you to stay out of police business. But by God I am sure you know a lot more than you have told us and if I can prove it--"
"What was that call?" the Dire Wolf asked. "Adamantios escape?"
"None of your damn business!" screamed Lt Rankin as he got in the unmarked car and slammed the door so hard the window almost broke. As the car took off rapidly, Bane watched until it was just out of sight before walking over to where his Nissan sat. The police had searched it, but there was nothing in it that hadn't been there when the saleswoman had handed him the keys that afternoon. Getting behind the wheel, Bane allowed the faintest of smiles to cross his face at Rankin's fury. He figured the man was facing a situation he could not allow himself to deal with and was going to have to do some massive rationalization to cope.
Heading up the highway, the Dire Wolf drove toward the last address he had for the members of Adamantious' gang. He felt sure that that the radio call Rankin had taken was about the unkillable man getting loose and probably murdering an officer or two in the process. That meant Adamantios would be continue on his agenda, which meant Baby Blue would be next to get a visit. Just over the speed limit, Bane moved west on I-99 as dawn began to streak the sky behind him.
It took half an hour to find the building where Baby Blue had last been known to reside. Sitting by itself along the highway, it looked like it had once been a gift shop or antiques store that had been slightly rebuilt for residence. The big picture window had drapes on the inside, and steps going up to the side door had a railing. Parked behind the building was an old red Dodge Ram with the hood up and a few tools scattered around it.
Bane parked the Nissan and surveyed the area before getting out. He circled the building and saw a light on in what would be the bathroom. As he headed for the door, that light went out. Bane pressed the doorbell and heard the chimes inside, then a voice grumbling as the door opened a crack.
"Yeah? What?" came an unwelcoming voice.
"Your life is in danger," Bane said. "Philo Adamantios is loose. Spanish Tom and Joey are already dead."
The door swung open and a short black man in a bathrobe was pointing a Glock 19 right at Bane's chest. "The hell you say." Baby Blue was not intimidating aside from the gun, being slight in build and with a bland face that had big brown eyes under heavy brows. The hand that held that gun was rock steady, though.
"He might be here any moment," the Dire Wolf continued as if he had not noticed the Glock. "You're the final name on his hit list."
"And who might you be?" Baby Blue demanded. "You with the Po-leese?"
"I'm a detective hired to find him." Bane reached up and casually pushed the gunhand down so the barrel was pointing at the ground. "I strongly suggest you get away from here right now."
Baby Blue glanced over at his truck. "I ain't goin' nowhere in that beast unless you got a new water pump."
"I'll take you," Bane said. "But we better hurry..." As he spoke, he saw a police black & white come tearing along the road and swerve violently onto the property. Drawing his own gun, he said quietly, "Too late."
Adamantious jumped out from behind the wheel and thundered toward them. His white dress shirt hung in bloody tatters and his hideous face was split by a wicked grin. Whatever had animated the killer and given him his revival powers seemed to be changing him further. His leer went beyond normal criminal insanity. There was the singleminded focus of a predator in his eyes. When he was only twenty feet away, Bane snapped off four shots that smashed Adamantious' head out of shape into a red splatter. The killer spun around and fell to the ground.
"Dayum," said Baby Blue as if to himself.
"The worst part is, I don't think that will stop him for long. He's already been shot twenty times tonight and he keeps shaking it off." Bane took cartridges from the box in his coat pocket and reloaded the Colt revolver. "Listen, do you have a hatchet? An axe?"
"Sure, I got an axe round back with the shovel and rake."
"I want you to go get it," Bane told him. "I'll watch Adamantios. Hurry."
"Mister, I don't know who you are or why you want an axe, but I don't believe I'm inclined to argue." Baby Blue had lowered his Glock and seemed hardly aware he was holding it. The speed and accuracy with what Bane had fired seemed to have awed him and he was acting terrified of this strange white man with those icy cold eyes.
As Baby Blue stepped around his house, Bane glanced over at him and that was the opening Adamantios needed. The unkillable man heaved up off the ground, still covered with blood but with his head back to normal. He tackled the Dire Wolf headlong, bringing them both to the ground. One powerful hand closed around Bane's wrist, yanking the gunhand far off to one side. Even as they fell, Bane brought a knee up and drove Adamantios off him. In an instant, he had rolled and jumped up, and as the killer got up on one knee, the Dire Wolf kicked him hard right on the side of the head. Adamantios fell sideways but wasn't hurt.
Bane got the man stomach side down, stamping a boot between his shoulder blades and yanking one arm straight up, twisting it mercilessly. He had pinned the killer down in a way where Adamantios could not get leverage or kick enough to get loose. In his free hand, Bane still held the Colt but he hesitated to shoot. What good would it do? The Dire Wolf pulled harder, dislocating Adamantios' arm, and he moved his other foot to hold the killer's other arm down as well.
Watching all this, Baby Blue hefted the axe he had fetched. "I saw it. I know, he's a hant. My gramma told me about them, they is cursed and there is only one way they can die." The small black man did not hesitate. He lifted the axe up overhead and brought it down with all the strength in his arms, missing Bane by inches as the heavy blade chopped cleanly through the Adamantios' neck. That misshapen hairless head spun away and rolled a few feet. Under Bane's foot, the muscular body convulsed once and went utterly limp.
"I think that did it," the Dire Wolf said. He tentatively stepped back away from the corpse. Baby Blue was breathing heavily, still gripping the axe as a dark sedan pulled into his yard. From behind the wheel, the plainclothes officer got up, service revolver pointed exactly between Bane and Baby Blue. From the passenger side, Lt Rankin straightened up and yelled, "Neither of you move! I mean it. I saw the whole thing. You beheaded that man like an execution."
"Exactly like an execution," the Dire Wolf agreed with sudden weariness. "Adamantious survived the electric chair. He survived lethal injection and hanging and a firing squad." He stared down at the headless corpse at his feet. "Looks like this was the form of execution that finally worked."
1/26/2015
