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dochermes"Ollie Moonglow and the Sharks From Outer Space"
8/14-8/15/2004
I.
"UNICORN!" shouted Megan as she slammed open the door to the KDF main library room. Jolted out of deepest concentration, Ashley Whitaker yelped like a stepped-on puppy and fell completely off the plain wooden chair. She landed hard on her perfect little butt, the Number 2 yellow pencil falling from behind her ear and the looseleaf notebook thumping to the floor next to her.
The main library had three walls lined with tightly filled bookshelves, and the fourth wall was only broken by two high narrow windows which looked down on East 38th Street. Under standing brass lamps, two long oak tables invariably laden with stacks of even more books also groaned under piles of loose papers, magazines and scattered newspapers. Two comfortable chairs and four plain wooden ones provided the only other furniture. Since KDF members did as much research into the Midnight War as college students studying more mundane topics, attempts to keep this room organized seldom lasted a full week.
Still seated on the polished wooden floor, the petite blonde gaped up at her teammate. At twenty-two, Unicorn was unselfconsciously gorgeous. The slim but curvy body reached five feet one on a good day, the platinum hair shone with health and the sapphire eyes held the clear alertness of youth. At the moment, though, bafflement left her expression not at its best. "Megan...?! What the HELL, dude?"
The Trom Girl offered a hand and hauled her friend back up onto her feet. Megan Salenger was a year older than Ashley, a little taller and a little more solidly built. Her mop of short black hair was tousled as usual, but for once those large dark eyes were not reserved and thoughtful. They gleamed with excitement.
"Hurry up, Ashley," Megan urged, picking up the fallen notebook and pencil to toss them carelessly on the table. "We must leave immediately."
"Huh? Why? Is Maroch invading New York? Has the Skinwalker outbreak started?"
"No, nothing like that." The Trom Girl was wearing her field suit with the boots, snug pants and high-collared waist-length jacket, all matte black and all bristling with pockets full of gear. In one hand, she clutched an off-white windbreaker she sometimes wore to look less like a commando about to raid. "We are going to investigate the death of Ollie Moonglow."
Unicorn tilted her head quizzically. "Why are you so worked up, hon? The Megan I know is always cool, calm and collected. Have you been chugging Red Bull or something?"
"We must leave now," Megan replied, tugging Ashley by the arm toward the door. "I assume you are wearing your armor under that T-shirt and jeans."
"Well, yeah. Let me grab my denim vest, it's got most of my gadgets. And my Unicorn horn is up in my room..."
"I do not think you will need it," the Trom Girl interrupted. "We are not opposing enemies with gralic force. Come down to the garage, I have already completed the rundown on my Jeep."
Not resisting, Ashley simply grabbed her vest from the back of the chair where she had been sitting and tugged it on as they rushed out into the hall and down the main staircase. Megan said nothing further until they had bounded down to the front hall and rushed into the walk-in closet by the street door. The panel at the rear of the closet slid open.
"I have left a note explaining our agenda for when Sable returns," Megan said. They raced down steep concrete steps and along a narrow walkway. The Trom Girl was nearly running and Ashley had little choice but to trot along behind her. In the small underground garage beneath the KDF building, Megan hopped up behind the wheel of her cherry-red Jeep Cherokee. Unicorn slowed to grab her travel knapsack from its place on a shelf where all their members stowed their gear and climbed up into the passenger seat.
"It's almost ten o'clock at night, you realize," the blonde reminded her teammate.
"Mrs Pickett said we should come right over to see her."
In a few seconds, the Jeep rolled up the ramp to street level and exited into an alley as the metal door rose to let them out. Megan swung out onto Lexington Avenue and slowed for the stop sign rather than coming to a full halt.
"You have GOT to start explaining, missy," Ashley said as she caught her bearings. "I've seen you less agitated when we were being chased through the woods by Howlers. You're starting to scare me."
The Trom Girl gave one of her rare grins, flashing blindingly white teeth that had been meticulously cared for since childhood. "I must apologize. It IS unusual for me to display such enthusiasm. Trom discipline means decorum and logic. Ashley, the third wife of Ollie Moonglow phoned us just now. She wants to hire our KDF team to investigate his death."
"Oh. Is that all? Jeez, Megs. It's usually me who gets all worked up and drags you away from rebuilding a frammistat or something. You mean that weirdo rock star Ollie Moonglow? The one who looks like a starving greyhound? That's the case you want to investigate?"
Stuck at a red light for the moment, the Trom Girl fixed a stern gaze on her friend. "I find his stage persona fascinating. The lyrics of his songs supply a complex array of clues that are difficult to assemble into a coherent narrative. His band has an ambiguous style. Lately, I have been listening to his album TOO MUCH IS NEVER ENOUGH repeatedly."
"What? Oh my God, Megan. Maybe you can't figure out that lunatic's songs because they don't make sense in the first place. He's taken enough drugs to kill a buffalo herd. I mean, his stuff is catchy and he has a decent voice, I like that British accent, but still..."
"It is possible I detect patterns and meanings others may not."
"Yeah, yeah, I know you're a genius in everything from cryptography to astrophysics to hopscotch," Unicorn but suddenly let out a breath and continued in a relaxed tone. "Ya know what? Why are we about to argue? I'll go along with you. Sure, what the heck. So, Ollie Moonglow is dead. His third wife called the KDF to look into it. Why us? We're not a detective agency."
"I estimate eleven minutes until we arrive at her hotel," Megan said. "As Ollie's albums indicate, he had a deep interest in the paranormal. He somehow learned about the real Midnight War. Several of his songs hold unmistakable references to Khang, to the Snake men, even to the realms bordering the world we know. After all, his band is called the Sharks From Outer Space. His last hit in the United States was a song called, 'Hunted By the Dire Wolf,' and it mentions grey eyes."
"So he knows about Jeremy?" Ashley reflected. "Okay, now I'm getting interested. That's how his ex-wife knew who we are. I get it so far."
"Her name is Onyx Pickett. Ollie's real name was Samuel Pickett, and they were separated but the divorce has not been finalized. Ashley, finding a parking spot may take a few minutes. Traffic is unusually heavy tonight."
Glancing out at 83rd Street, Unicorn made a non-committal sound. "Aw, keep circling, Megs. We can walk a coupla blocks if we have to. Hey! Right there!"
A white delivery van pulled away from the curb not ten feet in front of them and Megan whipped into the vacant spot so promptly her front bumper almost brushed up against the departing vehicle. As Ashley dug in her jeans for two quarters to put in the meter, she asked, "Tell me more. What else do we know?"
The Trom Girl put her Jeep in Park." Ollie died from complications of having both hands hopelessly crushed."
II.
The suite on the 40th floor of Renwick Tower was surprisingly old-fashioned and cozy, with lots of dark wood and overstuffed recliner chairs as well as a long tan leather couch that took up most of one wall. Only one of the many standing lamps was on.
When Megan and Ashley rang, they were immediately admitted by Onyx Pickett. Not long ago, she had undoubtedly been a very good-looking woman, but booze and cigarettes and never sleeping had softened her face into dough without much character. She was wrapped in an oversized maroon dressing gown that showed only her face and hands. Fifty years old, with a possible margin of five years either way due to her dissipation.
"Oh, you're prompt," were her first words. "I recognize you girls. I certainly have heard you described many times by Ollie. Unicorn and Trom Girl, or do you prefer to addressed by your civilian names?"
"Whichever you like," Megan said. "We did come right away, Mrs Pickett. It has been two weeks since your husband's death. First, what progress have the police made?"
"Sit, please," Onyx suggested, dropping down herself into an easy chair. She snatched up a nearly empty pack of Newports from an end table and took a lighter from her gown pocket. "The police? Those useless bigots. They haven't even tried to investigate. I overheard one mutter on the way out about he was glad there was 'one less faggot in the world.'"
"Well, at least they won't be getting in our way," Unicorn remarked. "I can promise you that we get better results without the NYPD tripping over their own feet in front of us."
Megan lowered herself to the couch facing their hostess, and after a second Ashley did the same.
"Drink? It's been a long day," suggested Onyx.
"No, thank you. I would like you to give us all the information you have. First, a general summary of what seems to have happened would be useful. Then I'm afraid we will question you in minute detail."
"Certainly. Let me see. It started a Saturday three weeks ago. Well after midnight, Ollie went with Villy and the Beard to a club down in Tribeca. THE DYING PLANET, it's called. They always ran into some fans and never had to pay for drinks." She paused to light a fresh cigarette with the stub of the one she had nearly finished. "And, let's be honest, sometimes they picked up some fresh little groupies. Boys, of course."
If she was hoping to see shock or disapproval on the faces of her guests, Onyx was disappointed. Both young women seemed to be concentrating on taking everything in. "So. Anyway. It was three-twenty when Ollie said he was going to get some air. Villy and the Beard were playing some video game. Only a few minutes later, they heard someone kicking on the side door that led to an alley, and they investigated to find poor Ollie with both hands mashed into paste. All the phlanges, those little delicate bones, had been splintered."
"And he was a guitarist," Unicorn remarked.
"He was THE guitarist of his generation," Onyx snapped a bit irritably. "Played it left hand like Hendrix. Ruined now, of course. The doctors said in time he might be able to use a spoon and fork, or even write his name but his career was over. But in his prime, boy could he play guitar."
"I see. How did he describe his assailants?" asked Megan.
"Only one man. Black ski mask. Short wide dude. Ollie didn't want to go into too much detail. He said this monster engulfed Ollie's hands in his own like a catfish swallowing guppies and simply squeezed so hard that Ollie's hands cracked like pretzel sticks. The pain nearly knocked him out. He didn't remember anything else after that until he woke up in the ER."
"Hey, that sure sounds like classic Casey Strangle," interjected Ashley with abrupt enthusiasm. "We've been aching for a chance to bust that guy. He's hardhearted like nobody's business."
Seeing the dismayed expression on Onyx's face, Megan added, "The man is a well-known career criminal. As far as anyone knows, he has never killed anyone but he does administer brutal beatings for a fee. Breaking your husband's hands would not be out of a normal commission for him."
"You see? You see? The police never mentioned him. Oh, I can tell I made the right decision calling you girls in on this." Onyx snubbed out her second cigarette and found the pack was now empty. She seemed stricken at the sight.
"But Strangle didn't kill your husband, right?" asked Ashley. "It was a week after that. Strangle wasn't implicated with his death."
"You're right. It was eight days later that Ollie went back to the hospital. His hands had become infected, but being stubborn as a brick wall, he waited until it was too late. Blood poisoning. He died at 3:45 that morning."
All of the fannish enthusiasm had faded completely from Megan's mannerisms. She was once again the analytical thinking machine that the Trom had raised her to become. Even her voice had settled into dry emotionless tones. "I did read about the circumstances of his death, Mrs Pickett. The newspapers carried the story. It was implied to be an unfortunate complication that could not be helped."
"Yes. Yes. Trom Girl, Unicorn... or Megan and Ashley, if you like, I'm having trouble coping with these questions all over again. The police finally stopping interrogating after four days of nagging me and trying to find something they could use to blame everything on me. I'll tell you what. Villie and the Beard have an apartment up on 109th, I know they're laying low and deciding what to do."
Megan Salenger rose smoothly to her feet. "We will speak with them first, then. But of course we will have to return and ask you for many more details, Mrs Pickett. It's inevitable in a homicide investigation."
With not nearly the same ease that Megan had shown, Onyx forced herself to stand up as well. She unconsciously checked the crumpled cigarette pack as if somehow she had missed one. "Of course. Of course. I am grateful that you two have decided to help. I thought a simple murder was not important enough for the famous Kenneth Dred Foundation."
The Trom Girl glanced over at her partner and they exchanged a subtle confirmation. "We have not yet taken you as a client, ma'am. we are still getting a picture of the situation. When we return, we may have to charge you a flat fee of one thousand dollars, which will give us certain options when dealing with the police."
"Such as telling them to get lost and stop hassling us," Unicorn said. "We need cops like a fish needs a bicycle."
"Yes. Thank you, Ashley. Mrs Pickett, if you would provide us with the address, we will proceed to see what Villie and the Beard can add to our understanding." Earlier that day, Megan would have been giddy at the prospect of meeting Ollie Moonglow's band, the Sharks From Outer Space. Now she was completely businesslike again. Standing next to her teammate, Ashley barely restrained a gleeful smirk. It was reassuring to have Megan acting like a somber stick in the mud again.
III.
Exiting the lobby of Renwick Tower into the night, Ashley clapped her hands together. "Starting to seem like an interesting case, Megs. I was watching her pupils and her micro-expressions. No attempt at hiding her feelings that I could spot, what about you?"
"Her subvocal tremors were consistent," the Trom Girl responded. "I tentatively conclude she told us the truth as she knows it, but of course she was giving us secondhand information. She may have been misinformed."
Seeing an opening in the traffic, Unicorn sprinted across Lexington nimbly as a chipmunk with Megan right behind her. They climbed back into the Jeep Cherokee and belted up. The Trom Girl took a few minutes to study the various monitor screens and status lights she had installed. She treated driving any vehicle as if climbing into a fighter jet ready for combat.
"Hey, as long as we have a little drive ahead of us, fill me in on some background. What the heck is Ollie Moonglow supposed to BE anyway? Besides ugly."
Easing out into traffic with effortless skill, Megan replied, "Clues in the lyrics hint he is a spy from another realm. He reports to something called the Inner Circle and one song implies he has sent humans from our world to the group for study. What intrigues me are the lyrics suggesting Ollie Moonglow has become too fond of popular culture to remain on his mission."
"Like how?"
"His fondness for beer and fast food hamburgers, as well as a love of shallow television shows. His latest song is all about how excess jades the sensibility so that stronger doses are needed to obtain satisfaction. 'Too Much Is Never Enough' has become his trademark slogan."
Ashley scoffed. "Sounds like a drug metaphor, if you ask me. Your body develops a tolerance and you need higher doses to get high."
"That had occurred to me." Slowing as traffic became congested for some reason, the Trom Girl glanced over at her teammate. "Does it amuse you that for once I am interested in pop culture and you are not?"
"Hell, yeah. It's pretty cool, though." Unicorn flashed a grin that had melted many male hearts. "I like it when I see different sides of you, Megan. You're all kinds of complicated."
"That is reassuring. We should be coming up on the apartment complex in three minutes. Ollie's band consisted of a drummer called Villie and a keyboardist called the Beard. A rhythmn guitarist who was known as McNasty left the group a year ago."
The blonde shrugged. "I'm sure you know their real names, where they were born, any criminal records, their favorite toothpaste, all that stuff. You always do your homework."
"Yes. Here we are, the complex has its own parking lot." Megan turned into an asphalt square nearly filled with cars and claimed the last remaining vacancy. "Another parking meter. Do you have change on you, Ashley?"
"You bet, galpal." Vaulting out of the passenger seat, Unicorn put in the maximum of two quarters and slapped her hands together as if dusting them. "We have one hour to drag the truth out of two freaks named Villie and the Beard."
The building itself was a yellow brick structure only eleven stories high, with an L-shaped wing to one side. As the two KDF members walked up to the glass doors, an elderly man obligingly held them open to let them in before hobbling off. Ashley gifted him a smirk he didn't see. The foyer held an unoccupied desk behind clear partitions, a door marked STAIRWELL and an elevator that they headed for.
"Not the tightest security," Unicorn observed. "Third floor, right?"
"Yes. Room 309. Ashley, I find I am not enjoying this mission. I had perhaps unthinkingly expected to be meeting some of my few idols but instead it has become only another murder mystery to be solved."
"Them's the breaks in the Midnight War game," the blonde replied, rubbing one hand high up on her friend's back. "Tell you what. Next time you get obsessed over a singer or writer or whatever, we'll take a personal day and go meet them BEFORE any sudden death happens."
The Trom Girl gave one of her rare chuckles. "Good advice."
In front of door 309, the two teammates paused as they heard a male tenor singing. There weren't exactly words to it, only "Dah-DAH-dah-dah," over and over again. Then a second voice barked, "No, no, that's not it."
Unicorn rapped sharply with her knuckles on the door, which opened immediately to reveal a gaunt, sunken-cheeked face with a long bristly ginger beard protruding stiffly out from the chin. Eyeglasses with remarkably thick lenses added to the odd appearance. "Hello? Oh, hello."
"Hi, sorry to bother you so late. We're hoping you have time for us," Unicorn replied in a voice sweet enough to be poured on French toast. At the same time, she was gazing up at him with her head tilted forward. This invariably worked.
"Who is it, Beard?" demanded the second voice.
"Two of the prettiest babes I've seen in years," Beard called back. "By all means, please come in, ladies." The gaunt man drew back to admit Unicorn and Trom Girl into an apartment that was only slightly untidy. Magazines and newspapers on the coffee table were the only disarray, everything else was neatly kept.
Getting up from the couch was a heavyset man wearing black slacks and a light blue dress shirt with the cuffs rolled back. Aside from rather longish curly hair hanging down to his shoulders, there was little about his appearance to distinguish him. But when he spoke, a distinct East European accent marked his words, "Ah, what a welcome distraction. We have been hitting our heads on a song that refuses to take shape. Come in. Sit down."
"Thank you," Unicorn replied, dropping down into a wooden chair that had a red cushion tied to its seat. "My name is Ashley Whitaker, this is Megan Salenger. And of course, we know who you guys are."
Taking the other unoccupied chair, Megan said, "I confess to being a little starstruck at actually meeting you two. Let me avoid any misunderstandings, though. We are looking into what happened to Ollie Moonglow."
"Oh GOD, not more cops! Don't tell me they're sending young female officers now to try and get us to confess," the Beard whined. He went over to plop on the couch next to where Villie had sat down again. "Although it beats being stared at by fat middle-aged lietutenants."
"The cops are convinced that we hired some underworld gorilla to ruin Ollie's ability to play guitar," grumbled Villie. "Because we were jealous. As if we would crush his sweet hands. Goddammit. Both of us have plenty of studio work lined up. We're not going to starve with Ollie gone."
"We are not with the police," Megan continued, unaware she was beginning to blush under those admiring gazes. "The Kenneth Dred Foundation is a group which usually investigates crimes of an unusual or occult nature. I can tell you that we have tentatively identified the man who injured Ollie's hands three weeks ago."
"We have some excellent bourbon here. Alex Grant of Tennessee." The Beard reached over to an end table which held an octagonal dark bottle and some glasses. "Let's have a toast to honest conversation."
Both Megan and Ashley agreed, accepted the glasses handed to them and began sipping. They saw no reason to volunteer the fact that alcohol had absolutely no effect on either of them. Part of the enhanced healing from their Tagra tea regimen meant that their bodies processed even poisons without harm.
After down his own glass in a gulp, the Beard grinned at Ashley. "You seem like a Taurus, am I right? Is that your sign?"
" 'KEEP OFF,' that's my sign," she answered with a smirk. "I could stand a little more, this is decent stuff."
While the Beard refilled Ashley's glass, Megan addressed Villie. "From what I understand, Ollie did have problems with some obsessed followers. It's hearsay, but he was said to lead them on into thinking some serious relationship was happening but then dropped them without warning."
"Oh, that was his fault. We bitched about his fans but they weren't all too blame. He took it all too far. On our Leather Messiah tour, Ollie was chased by two college kids who thought he was going to take them with us to LA but he jilted them. He got away that time, but yeah, he was asking for trouble every day. He led the boys on with promises, but then he could leave 'em to hang."
"His big problem was that he was losing sight of Sam Pickett as his real self," the Beard said. "We all invented Ollie Moonglow as a stage persona. Lots of stars act out a role, but Ollie got into it way too deep. That wig was a screwed-on hairdo because he wanted to look like some cat from Japan. Sometimes he glued little gum tabs in the corners of his eyes to try and look Asian. And he lived on vitamins and speed, I don't think he weighed more than a hundred and twenty toward the end."
"Actors do get eaten by their roles sometimes," Unicorn agreed.
"There's something that I wanted to ask about," Megan said. "On your first album, LEATHER MESSIAH, you're billed as the Sharks From Outer Space. The second album, JIVING THAT VOODOO, said Sharks From Outer Space 'featuring Ollie Moonglow,' and the third was SNOW WHITE TAN and had 'Ollie Moonglow' with 'and the Sharks From Outer Space' in smaller letters."
"Boy, that's a sore point. Yeah. The record label and our manager insisted on that. We screamed and argued but couldn't stop them. We were turning from being a group of equals into being just Ollie's band. They were also pushing Ollie to do a solo album."
Ashley placed her empty glass on the floor next to her chair, brushed the shiny platinum hair back over her shoulders and sat up straighter. The two men were transfixed. "So I guess you guys fought a lot, huh?"
"No. Not really. Not more than most bands. It's intense for every band."
"We were mostly worried about him, to be honest," Villie added. "Ollie had fears about losing his identity. He was talking like Ollie Moonglow not only in interviews but all the time. One time he admitted he was afraid he was not going to be able to go back, like he was changing permanently."
"It didn't help that the character Ollie played was such a WEIRD bugger," the Beard said. "Very dark. Lots of conspiracy theorists followed our music. We used to get fifty-page letters about how Ollie and the Inner Circle were real. Secretly running the government, using human glands for longevity serums, all kinds of whack ideas. we got threats, even death threats every day."
"It seems Ollie was playing a dangerous game," Megan observed.
"You got that right," said the Beard, going for more bourbon. "He never knew when to draw the line. His philosophy really was 'Too Much Is Never Enough.'"
IV.
Back outside, midnight was settling in. "We were in there longer than I realized," Megan said. "I must admit I enjoyed learning more about how their songs were written and how the lyrics were so often random and meaningless. It invalidates most of my previous interpretations, though."
Leaning up against the side of the red Jeep, Unicorn dug through her pockets and found a stick of chewing gum. "To tell the truth, I was surprised neither of them tried to jump us. You know, get us drunk and say they wanted to talk privately and lure one of us into the bedroom. Kind of a relief they let us go without a fuss."
"Yes," The Trom Girl said with the familiar distant tone. She stood next to her friend, hands in her jacket pockets and gazing down at her feet.
Ashley knew that posture and tone of voice. "I can hear the little wheels spinning in your head," she said.
"Hmmm."
Realizing she might as well have been alone for the moment, Unicorn checked her Link for messages. There were no texts. A single green signal from the headquarters building signified that Sable knew what they were doing and had no objections. The little blonde settled back to wait until her partner was ready.
The Trom Girl raised her head and looked around as if surprised at her surroundings. "I have arrived at conclusions that I do not find appealing from an emotional viewpoint, Ashley. Please call Bleak and ask him where this man Casey Strangle might be found."
"Why me? You could have called him yourself."
"You have more tact and charm, Ashley. My social interactions will never be as self-assured as yours."
"True enough," Unicorn chuckled. "Being raised by a council of dry old sober Trom didn't exactly make you a smooth-talker." She unclipped the Link from her belt and patched into the Verizon system. "Hiiii! Hey there, it's me. Unicorn! What do you mean, WHO? Lissen, we're looking for some goof called Casey Strangle. Yes. Because, that's why. You're not much help tonight. Okay, where's that bar? Uh-huh. And he's there most nights? Great. I know you're on retainer as a source but I'll tell Sable to send you a little bonus."
For a moment, Bleak's sour old-man voice could be heard, then Unicorn fumed. "No, two nice girls like us should not settle down and raise families. Not that we haven't had chances to do exactly that. I'll have you know I've been asked to get married lots of times. What?!" and she broke the contact.
Megan Salenger could not hide her curiosity. "What was that all about?"
"Aw, I said I've been asked to get married lots of time. And he said, Yeah, by my teammates so they could get rid of me."
The chagrin in her voice tickled Megan enough that she smiled. "I believe Bleak teases you because he is very fond of you, Ashley."
"Hmmph. I suppose. Well anyway, we're off to the same dive where Ollie was assaulted. Down in Tribeca. I suppose you want to drive, obeying stop signs and red lights and other inconveniences?"
"That would be best," Megan answered, still with a detached air. They pulled out into the only slightly thinner traffic of midnight and headed south.
Unicorn lightly punched Megan on the right bicep to get her attention. "Come on, stop teasing me. Gimme at least one of your wild theories."
"It is curious that Casey Strangle has escaped arrest for so long. There are eleven felony warrants out for him. Considering his unusual appearance, I find it surprising that he is still at large."
"You mean because of his mitts, right? Everyone that has seen him swears he has hands twice as big as normal. He's physically a freak, as far as that goes. You're right, you'd think he would be recognized as soon as a cop spotted those maulers."
Megan glanced over at her friend. "Consider the possibility his hands are not always that size."
"A shape-shifter? Whoa! That makes sense. You're a genius, Megs."
"It's accurate to describe me that way," the Trom Girl said. "But I believe people would think me immodest not to disagree and downplay my intellect."
"You're gonna grow a sense of irony if it takes forever," Ashley said.
Reaching the address on Reamer Street, Megan circled the block as both of them scrutinized the scene. She found a parking spot three blocks away. When they walked closer, both teammates checked out the area as if expecting an ambush by armed killers at any second. This was what three years in the Midnight War had taught them, and if it might seem paranoid to an outsider, it had kept them alive.
They found THE DYING PLANET painted in gruesome dripping letters on an opaque window on the ground floor of a dingy brick building. Vague Post-Rock music drifted out to them, but no one was in sight. "That is not the establishment we are looking for," Megan observed.
"Nah," agreed Unicorn. "Next to it, though, THAT's where sordid debauchery takes place. Not that I would know from personal experience, ha ha." She pointed to where a wrought iron railing edged concrete steps leading down to a basement window where a single tiny red bulb gave a hellish tone.
While they watched, a young couple went up to the door of the DYING PLANET and entered. A gust of loud mournful music and the scent of pot rolled out while the door was open for that second. The Trom Girl glanced over at her partner, who seemed inclined to follow the couple into the club. "We should do a recon," Megan said.
"I suppose," Unicorn grudgingly agreed. She reached behind herself to loosen the dart gun where it was concealed in its holster by her denim vest. "But honestly I'm aching to teach you how to dance."
"For the moment, we must concentrate on our mission." Megan led her partner into a narrow alley between the clubs' building and the structure next to it. A battered aluminum garbage can was filled with debris and several empty cardboard boxes sat in their way. They found themselves in an open area where the only light came from a neon strip that read simply BEER in orange letters.
"Some stink!" Unicorn grumbled. "Sheesh. I guess this is where guys go to take a leak when the bathroom is occupied."
"It is a distasteful practice, as well as unhygienic," Megan said. "There is no other exit from this area. This is where Ollie was attacked."
As soon as she had said that, the plain wooden door at the rear of the building swung open. A short stocky man stepped out and froze into position as he saw them. "Well. Pardon me, ladies, but would you mind looking the other way?"
Not more than five feet seven but wide in build, the man was wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt that displayed how he had been putting in time at the gym. His dark blond hair was cut short, and his unremarkable face showed a pointed nose and narrow thin-lipped mouth. He flicked a still-burning cigarette to the filthy alley floor as he checked out the two women.
Megan Salenger took a step closer. "Peter Julius Cayce? Known in your criminal career as Casey Strangle?"
"Never heard of him. Look, I'm gonna piss in a second whether you babes are watching or not, I'm just saying."
"We will wait."
Neither woman turned away, so he swung around to face the corner wall. After he was done and had zipped up, the man started back for the door but stopped as he saw Unicorn hold up a thick roll of twenties.
"Well, that's a switch," Strangle guffawed. "Usually it's me flashing cash at girls to get their attention."
"Maybe we can help each other out," the little blonde replied, tucking the money away again. "My friend and I both got cheated bad in a business deal by this grifter. I wouldn't mind reading about him in the obituaries but my friend thinks otherwise."
Megan Salenger made no comment. As usual, her serious-minded expression gave away nothing of what she was thinking but she would have preferred that Ashley had discussed this approach first.
"You can't feel pain and regret if you're dead," Unicorn went on. "Like that rock star, the one who looks like an alien from outer space. You know, the one with hands squished into paste. He had time to feel bad about what had happened to him."
"I'm listening," Strangle said. "But I haven't confirmed anything. You two must have mistaken me for someone else."
The blonde grinned in the gloom where only the small neon sign gave illumination. "Sure, you have to be cautious. I understand that. Listen, whatever the guys in Ollie's band paid you, we'll match it to have you do the same to our swindler."
With a snort, Strangle turned back toward the door. "I trust my nose. It smells a set-up. Like a pair of good-looking cops trying to get me to incriminate myself. I don't know you chicks, I got no reason to do any business with you. Come on in the club if you want, I'm sure some suckers will buy you drinks."
But Unicorn sidestepped into his path. "You're a phony. You're not Casey Strangle, your hands are nothing special. It's a waste of time talking to you."
"You got a big mouth, little girl," he growled and raised his arms. In the murk, his hands swelled up to twice their normal size and became gnarled masses of bone and tendon. Even the nails extended to become claws. "Hah! What do you think of that?"
The Trom Girl's voice was as even and detached as ever, as she moved to place herself between her friend and this man. "That's the confirmation we needed. Mr Cayce, we are authorized by the NYPD to detain you until uniformed officers can take you into custody..."
Her words ended as she dropped low, barely in time to evade a brutal sweeping blow from one of those monstrous paws. Megan's unusual upbringing by the Trom gave her perfect coordination between a finely toned body and a mind that worked with computer speed. Even as she crouched, she kicked the back of Strangle's knee to send him down off balance and lunged in to drive an elbow down hard to the nape of his neck. Her moves were as smooth as if the two of them had rehearsed together for weeks.
Taken completely by surprised, dazed by the blow, Strangle stayed on his hands and knees. He made a choking noise but couldn't speak.
"Here is my theory," the Trom Girl said. "It wasn't the two members of the band who paid you to crush Ollie Moonglow's hands. He himself did it. He was terrified of losing his mind and being unable to return to his true self. With the ability to play guitar lost, Ollie hoped..."
She was interrupted again as Strangle heaved up off the ground and lunged for her with both hands clutching. Megan swerved to one side, seized his nearer arm at wrist and elbow, and used his own momentum to slam his face into the brick wall with a mushy thump. The brute slid down into a loose heap that twitched uncertainly.
"You know, I could have tagged him with the dart gun," Unicorn offered with a trace of being miffed in her voice.
Megan straightened her jacket. "I seldom get a chance to put my Kumundu training into practice, Ashley. I admit I am disappointed he did not choose to confirm my theory. We will try to question him before Department 21 Black arrives."
"Wait, we're bringing FBI agents in on this? I thought the NYPD had a dozen warrants out for this dude!"
"The police actually prefer to turn special cases like this to 21 Black," Megan told her partner. "They want to avoid bringing suspects with gralic abilities to court where the public would learn about the Midnight War. Let me examine him. His nose is bleeding but it is not broken. He is still conscious. Stand by with your dart gun, please, in case he decides to run away."
Ashley Whitaker suddenly blew up. "I might as well have stayed where I was, reading that book! I've been useless on this case. He wasn't interested at all in me hiring him, I never figured out that it was Ollie Whats-his-face who wanted his own hands broken, and I just stood there with my mouth open while you beat him up." She sounded close to stamping her feet in disgust.
"Give me a second," the Trom Girl said. "I realize the way I speak is not always tactful. Ashley, I felt safer with you watching my back. You are the only KDF teammate I am comfortable with enough to relax. And I enjoy your company."
"Oh.. All right. I guess." Unicorn came over and prodded the stunned man with the toe of her sneaker. "But next case, you let me save the day, all right?"
12/11/2021
8/14-8/15/2004
I.
"UNICORN!" shouted Megan as she slammed open the door to the KDF main library room. Jolted out of deepest concentration, Ashley Whitaker yelped like a stepped-on puppy and fell completely off the plain wooden chair. She landed hard on her perfect little butt, the Number 2 yellow pencil falling from behind her ear and the looseleaf notebook thumping to the floor next to her.
The main library had three walls lined with tightly filled bookshelves, and the fourth wall was only broken by two high narrow windows which looked down on East 38th Street. Under standing brass lamps, two long oak tables invariably laden with stacks of even more books also groaned under piles of loose papers, magazines and scattered newspapers. Two comfortable chairs and four plain wooden ones provided the only other furniture. Since KDF members did as much research into the Midnight War as college students studying more mundane topics, attempts to keep this room organized seldom lasted a full week.
Still seated on the polished wooden floor, the petite blonde gaped up at her teammate. At twenty-two, Unicorn was unselfconsciously gorgeous. The slim but curvy body reached five feet one on a good day, the platinum hair shone with health and the sapphire eyes held the clear alertness of youth. At the moment, though, bafflement left her expression not at its best. "Megan...?! What the HELL, dude?"
The Trom Girl offered a hand and hauled her friend back up onto her feet. Megan Salenger was a year older than Ashley, a little taller and a little more solidly built. Her mop of short black hair was tousled as usual, but for once those large dark eyes were not reserved and thoughtful. They gleamed with excitement.
"Hurry up, Ashley," Megan urged, picking up the fallen notebook and pencil to toss them carelessly on the table. "We must leave immediately."
"Huh? Why? Is Maroch invading New York? Has the Skinwalker outbreak started?"
"No, nothing like that." The Trom Girl was wearing her field suit with the boots, snug pants and high-collared waist-length jacket, all matte black and all bristling with pockets full of gear. In one hand, she clutched an off-white windbreaker she sometimes wore to look less like a commando about to raid. "We are going to investigate the death of Ollie Moonglow."
Unicorn tilted her head quizzically. "Why are you so worked up, hon? The Megan I know is always cool, calm and collected. Have you been chugging Red Bull or something?"
"We must leave now," Megan replied, tugging Ashley by the arm toward the door. "I assume you are wearing your armor under that T-shirt and jeans."
"Well, yeah. Let me grab my denim vest, it's got most of my gadgets. And my Unicorn horn is up in my room..."
"I do not think you will need it," the Trom Girl interrupted. "We are not opposing enemies with gralic force. Come down to the garage, I have already completed the rundown on my Jeep."
Not resisting, Ashley simply grabbed her vest from the back of the chair where she had been sitting and tugged it on as they rushed out into the hall and down the main staircase. Megan said nothing further until they had bounded down to the front hall and rushed into the walk-in closet by the street door. The panel at the rear of the closet slid open.
"I have left a note explaining our agenda for when Sable returns," Megan said. They raced down steep concrete steps and along a narrow walkway. The Trom Girl was nearly running and Ashley had little choice but to trot along behind her. In the small underground garage beneath the KDF building, Megan hopped up behind the wheel of her cherry-red Jeep Cherokee. Unicorn slowed to grab her travel knapsack from its place on a shelf where all their members stowed their gear and climbed up into the passenger seat.
"It's almost ten o'clock at night, you realize," the blonde reminded her teammate.
"Mrs Pickett said we should come right over to see her."
In a few seconds, the Jeep rolled up the ramp to street level and exited into an alley as the metal door rose to let them out. Megan swung out onto Lexington Avenue and slowed for the stop sign rather than coming to a full halt.
"You have GOT to start explaining, missy," Ashley said as she caught her bearings. "I've seen you less agitated when we were being chased through the woods by Howlers. You're starting to scare me."
The Trom Girl gave one of her rare grins, flashing blindingly white teeth that had been meticulously cared for since childhood. "I must apologize. It IS unusual for me to display such enthusiasm. Trom discipline means decorum and logic. Ashley, the third wife of Ollie Moonglow phoned us just now. She wants to hire our KDF team to investigate his death."
"Oh. Is that all? Jeez, Megs. It's usually me who gets all worked up and drags you away from rebuilding a frammistat or something. You mean that weirdo rock star Ollie Moonglow? The one who looks like a starving greyhound? That's the case you want to investigate?"
Stuck at a red light for the moment, the Trom Girl fixed a stern gaze on her friend. "I find his stage persona fascinating. The lyrics of his songs supply a complex array of clues that are difficult to assemble into a coherent narrative. His band has an ambiguous style. Lately, I have been listening to his album TOO MUCH IS NEVER ENOUGH repeatedly."
"What? Oh my God, Megan. Maybe you can't figure out that lunatic's songs because they don't make sense in the first place. He's taken enough drugs to kill a buffalo herd. I mean, his stuff is catchy and he has a decent voice, I like that British accent, but still..."
"It is possible I detect patterns and meanings others may not."
"Yeah, yeah, I know you're a genius in everything from cryptography to astrophysics to hopscotch," Unicorn but suddenly let out a breath and continued in a relaxed tone. "Ya know what? Why are we about to argue? I'll go along with you. Sure, what the heck. So, Ollie Moonglow is dead. His third wife called the KDF to look into it. Why us? We're not a detective agency."
"I estimate eleven minutes until we arrive at her hotel," Megan said. "As Ollie's albums indicate, he had a deep interest in the paranormal. He somehow learned about the real Midnight War. Several of his songs hold unmistakable references to Khang, to the Snake men, even to the realms bordering the world we know. After all, his band is called the Sharks From Outer Space. His last hit in the United States was a song called, 'Hunted By the Dire Wolf,' and it mentions grey eyes."
"So he knows about Jeremy?" Ashley reflected. "Okay, now I'm getting interested. That's how his ex-wife knew who we are. I get it so far."
"Her name is Onyx Pickett. Ollie's real name was Samuel Pickett, and they were separated but the divorce has not been finalized. Ashley, finding a parking spot may take a few minutes. Traffic is unusually heavy tonight."
Glancing out at 83rd Street, Unicorn made a non-committal sound. "Aw, keep circling, Megs. We can walk a coupla blocks if we have to. Hey! Right there!"
A white delivery van pulled away from the curb not ten feet in front of them and Megan whipped into the vacant spot so promptly her front bumper almost brushed up against the departing vehicle. As Ashley dug in her jeans for two quarters to put in the meter, she asked, "Tell me more. What else do we know?"
The Trom Girl put her Jeep in Park." Ollie died from complications of having both hands hopelessly crushed."
II.
The suite on the 40th floor of Renwick Tower was surprisingly old-fashioned and cozy, with lots of dark wood and overstuffed recliner chairs as well as a long tan leather couch that took up most of one wall. Only one of the many standing lamps was on.
When Megan and Ashley rang, they were immediately admitted by Onyx Pickett. Not long ago, she had undoubtedly been a very good-looking woman, but booze and cigarettes and never sleeping had softened her face into dough without much character. She was wrapped in an oversized maroon dressing gown that showed only her face and hands. Fifty years old, with a possible margin of five years either way due to her dissipation.
"Oh, you're prompt," were her first words. "I recognize you girls. I certainly have heard you described many times by Ollie. Unicorn and Trom Girl, or do you prefer to addressed by your civilian names?"
"Whichever you like," Megan said. "We did come right away, Mrs Pickett. It has been two weeks since your husband's death. First, what progress have the police made?"
"Sit, please," Onyx suggested, dropping down herself into an easy chair. She snatched up a nearly empty pack of Newports from an end table and took a lighter from her gown pocket. "The police? Those useless bigots. They haven't even tried to investigate. I overheard one mutter on the way out about he was glad there was 'one less faggot in the world.'"
"Well, at least they won't be getting in our way," Unicorn remarked. "I can promise you that we get better results without the NYPD tripping over their own feet in front of us."
Megan lowered herself to the couch facing their hostess, and after a second Ashley did the same.
"Drink? It's been a long day," suggested Onyx.
"No, thank you. I would like you to give us all the information you have. First, a general summary of what seems to have happened would be useful. Then I'm afraid we will question you in minute detail."
"Certainly. Let me see. It started a Saturday three weeks ago. Well after midnight, Ollie went with Villy and the Beard to a club down in Tribeca. THE DYING PLANET, it's called. They always ran into some fans and never had to pay for drinks." She paused to light a fresh cigarette with the stub of the one she had nearly finished. "And, let's be honest, sometimes they picked up some fresh little groupies. Boys, of course."
If she was hoping to see shock or disapproval on the faces of her guests, Onyx was disappointed. Both young women seemed to be concentrating on taking everything in. "So. Anyway. It was three-twenty when Ollie said he was going to get some air. Villy and the Beard were playing some video game. Only a few minutes later, they heard someone kicking on the side door that led to an alley, and they investigated to find poor Ollie with both hands mashed into paste. All the phlanges, those little delicate bones, had been splintered."
"And he was a guitarist," Unicorn remarked.
"He was THE guitarist of his generation," Onyx snapped a bit irritably. "Played it left hand like Hendrix. Ruined now, of course. The doctors said in time he might be able to use a spoon and fork, or even write his name but his career was over. But in his prime, boy could he play guitar."
"I see. How did he describe his assailants?" asked Megan.
"Only one man. Black ski mask. Short wide dude. Ollie didn't want to go into too much detail. He said this monster engulfed Ollie's hands in his own like a catfish swallowing guppies and simply squeezed so hard that Ollie's hands cracked like pretzel sticks. The pain nearly knocked him out. He didn't remember anything else after that until he woke up in the ER."
"Hey, that sure sounds like classic Casey Strangle," interjected Ashley with abrupt enthusiasm. "We've been aching for a chance to bust that guy. He's hardhearted like nobody's business."
Seeing the dismayed expression on Onyx's face, Megan added, "The man is a well-known career criminal. As far as anyone knows, he has never killed anyone but he does administer brutal beatings for a fee. Breaking your husband's hands would not be out of a normal commission for him."
"You see? You see? The police never mentioned him. Oh, I can tell I made the right decision calling you girls in on this." Onyx snubbed out her second cigarette and found the pack was now empty. She seemed stricken at the sight.
"But Strangle didn't kill your husband, right?" asked Ashley. "It was a week after that. Strangle wasn't implicated with his death."
"You're right. It was eight days later that Ollie went back to the hospital. His hands had become infected, but being stubborn as a brick wall, he waited until it was too late. Blood poisoning. He died at 3:45 that morning."
All of the fannish enthusiasm had faded completely from Megan's mannerisms. She was once again the analytical thinking machine that the Trom had raised her to become. Even her voice had settled into dry emotionless tones. "I did read about the circumstances of his death, Mrs Pickett. The newspapers carried the story. It was implied to be an unfortunate complication that could not be helped."
"Yes. Yes. Trom Girl, Unicorn... or Megan and Ashley, if you like, I'm having trouble coping with these questions all over again. The police finally stopping interrogating after four days of nagging me and trying to find something they could use to blame everything on me. I'll tell you what. Villie and the Beard have an apartment up on 109th, I know they're laying low and deciding what to do."
Megan Salenger rose smoothly to her feet. "We will speak with them first, then. But of course we will have to return and ask you for many more details, Mrs Pickett. It's inevitable in a homicide investigation."
With not nearly the same ease that Megan had shown, Onyx forced herself to stand up as well. She unconsciously checked the crumpled cigarette pack as if somehow she had missed one. "Of course. Of course. I am grateful that you two have decided to help. I thought a simple murder was not important enough for the famous Kenneth Dred Foundation."
The Trom Girl glanced over at her partner and they exchanged a subtle confirmation. "We have not yet taken you as a client, ma'am. we are still getting a picture of the situation. When we return, we may have to charge you a flat fee of one thousand dollars, which will give us certain options when dealing with the police."
"Such as telling them to get lost and stop hassling us," Unicorn said. "We need cops like a fish needs a bicycle."
"Yes. Thank you, Ashley. Mrs Pickett, if you would provide us with the address, we will proceed to see what Villie and the Beard can add to our understanding." Earlier that day, Megan would have been giddy at the prospect of meeting Ollie Moonglow's band, the Sharks From Outer Space. Now she was completely businesslike again. Standing next to her teammate, Ashley barely restrained a gleeful smirk. It was reassuring to have Megan acting like a somber stick in the mud again.
III.
Exiting the lobby of Renwick Tower into the night, Ashley clapped her hands together. "Starting to seem like an interesting case, Megs. I was watching her pupils and her micro-expressions. No attempt at hiding her feelings that I could spot, what about you?"
"Her subvocal tremors were consistent," the Trom Girl responded. "I tentatively conclude she told us the truth as she knows it, but of course she was giving us secondhand information. She may have been misinformed."
Seeing an opening in the traffic, Unicorn sprinted across Lexington nimbly as a chipmunk with Megan right behind her. They climbed back into the Jeep Cherokee and belted up. The Trom Girl took a few minutes to study the various monitor screens and status lights she had installed. She treated driving any vehicle as if climbing into a fighter jet ready for combat.
"Hey, as long as we have a little drive ahead of us, fill me in on some background. What the heck is Ollie Moonglow supposed to BE anyway? Besides ugly."
Easing out into traffic with effortless skill, Megan replied, "Clues in the lyrics hint he is a spy from another realm. He reports to something called the Inner Circle and one song implies he has sent humans from our world to the group for study. What intrigues me are the lyrics suggesting Ollie Moonglow has become too fond of popular culture to remain on his mission."
"Like how?"
"His fondness for beer and fast food hamburgers, as well as a love of shallow television shows. His latest song is all about how excess jades the sensibility so that stronger doses are needed to obtain satisfaction. 'Too Much Is Never Enough' has become his trademark slogan."
Ashley scoffed. "Sounds like a drug metaphor, if you ask me. Your body develops a tolerance and you need higher doses to get high."
"That had occurred to me." Slowing as traffic became congested for some reason, the Trom Girl glanced over at her teammate. "Does it amuse you that for once I am interested in pop culture and you are not?"
"Hell, yeah. It's pretty cool, though." Unicorn flashed a grin that had melted many male hearts. "I like it when I see different sides of you, Megan. You're all kinds of complicated."
"That is reassuring. We should be coming up on the apartment complex in three minutes. Ollie's band consisted of a drummer called Villie and a keyboardist called the Beard. A rhythmn guitarist who was known as McNasty left the group a year ago."
The blonde shrugged. "I'm sure you know their real names, where they were born, any criminal records, their favorite toothpaste, all that stuff. You always do your homework."
"Yes. Here we are, the complex has its own parking lot." Megan turned into an asphalt square nearly filled with cars and claimed the last remaining vacancy. "Another parking meter. Do you have change on you, Ashley?"
"You bet, galpal." Vaulting out of the passenger seat, Unicorn put in the maximum of two quarters and slapped her hands together as if dusting them. "We have one hour to drag the truth out of two freaks named Villie and the Beard."
The building itself was a yellow brick structure only eleven stories high, with an L-shaped wing to one side. As the two KDF members walked up to the glass doors, an elderly man obligingly held them open to let them in before hobbling off. Ashley gifted him a smirk he didn't see. The foyer held an unoccupied desk behind clear partitions, a door marked STAIRWELL and an elevator that they headed for.
"Not the tightest security," Unicorn observed. "Third floor, right?"
"Yes. Room 309. Ashley, I find I am not enjoying this mission. I had perhaps unthinkingly expected to be meeting some of my few idols but instead it has become only another murder mystery to be solved."
"Them's the breaks in the Midnight War game," the blonde replied, rubbing one hand high up on her friend's back. "Tell you what. Next time you get obsessed over a singer or writer or whatever, we'll take a personal day and go meet them BEFORE any sudden death happens."
The Trom Girl gave one of her rare chuckles. "Good advice."
In front of door 309, the two teammates paused as they heard a male tenor singing. There weren't exactly words to it, only "Dah-DAH-dah-dah," over and over again. Then a second voice barked, "No, no, that's not it."
Unicorn rapped sharply with her knuckles on the door, which opened immediately to reveal a gaunt, sunken-cheeked face with a long bristly ginger beard protruding stiffly out from the chin. Eyeglasses with remarkably thick lenses added to the odd appearance. "Hello? Oh, hello."
"Hi, sorry to bother you so late. We're hoping you have time for us," Unicorn replied in a voice sweet enough to be poured on French toast. At the same time, she was gazing up at him with her head tilted forward. This invariably worked.
"Who is it, Beard?" demanded the second voice.
"Two of the prettiest babes I've seen in years," Beard called back. "By all means, please come in, ladies." The gaunt man drew back to admit Unicorn and Trom Girl into an apartment that was only slightly untidy. Magazines and newspapers on the coffee table were the only disarray, everything else was neatly kept.
Getting up from the couch was a heavyset man wearing black slacks and a light blue dress shirt with the cuffs rolled back. Aside from rather longish curly hair hanging down to his shoulders, there was little about his appearance to distinguish him. But when he spoke, a distinct East European accent marked his words, "Ah, what a welcome distraction. We have been hitting our heads on a song that refuses to take shape. Come in. Sit down."
"Thank you," Unicorn replied, dropping down into a wooden chair that had a red cushion tied to its seat. "My name is Ashley Whitaker, this is Megan Salenger. And of course, we know who you guys are."
Taking the other unoccupied chair, Megan said, "I confess to being a little starstruck at actually meeting you two. Let me avoid any misunderstandings, though. We are looking into what happened to Ollie Moonglow."
"Oh GOD, not more cops! Don't tell me they're sending young female officers now to try and get us to confess," the Beard whined. He went over to plop on the couch next to where Villie had sat down again. "Although it beats being stared at by fat middle-aged lietutenants."
"The cops are convinced that we hired some underworld gorilla to ruin Ollie's ability to play guitar," grumbled Villie. "Because we were jealous. As if we would crush his sweet hands. Goddammit. Both of us have plenty of studio work lined up. We're not going to starve with Ollie gone."
"We are not with the police," Megan continued, unaware she was beginning to blush under those admiring gazes. "The Kenneth Dred Foundation is a group which usually investigates crimes of an unusual or occult nature. I can tell you that we have tentatively identified the man who injured Ollie's hands three weeks ago."
"We have some excellent bourbon here. Alex Grant of Tennessee." The Beard reached over to an end table which held an octagonal dark bottle and some glasses. "Let's have a toast to honest conversation."
Both Megan and Ashley agreed, accepted the glasses handed to them and began sipping. They saw no reason to volunteer the fact that alcohol had absolutely no effect on either of them. Part of the enhanced healing from their Tagra tea regimen meant that their bodies processed even poisons without harm.
After down his own glass in a gulp, the Beard grinned at Ashley. "You seem like a Taurus, am I right? Is that your sign?"
" 'KEEP OFF,' that's my sign," she answered with a smirk. "I could stand a little more, this is decent stuff."
While the Beard refilled Ashley's glass, Megan addressed Villie. "From what I understand, Ollie did have problems with some obsessed followers. It's hearsay, but he was said to lead them on into thinking some serious relationship was happening but then dropped them without warning."
"Oh, that was his fault. We bitched about his fans but they weren't all too blame. He took it all too far. On our Leather Messiah tour, Ollie was chased by two college kids who thought he was going to take them with us to LA but he jilted them. He got away that time, but yeah, he was asking for trouble every day. He led the boys on with promises, but then he could leave 'em to hang."
"His big problem was that he was losing sight of Sam Pickett as his real self," the Beard said. "We all invented Ollie Moonglow as a stage persona. Lots of stars act out a role, but Ollie got into it way too deep. That wig was a screwed-on hairdo because he wanted to look like some cat from Japan. Sometimes he glued little gum tabs in the corners of his eyes to try and look Asian. And he lived on vitamins and speed, I don't think he weighed more than a hundred and twenty toward the end."
"Actors do get eaten by their roles sometimes," Unicorn agreed.
"There's something that I wanted to ask about," Megan said. "On your first album, LEATHER MESSIAH, you're billed as the Sharks From Outer Space. The second album, JIVING THAT VOODOO, said Sharks From Outer Space 'featuring Ollie Moonglow,' and the third was SNOW WHITE TAN and had 'Ollie Moonglow' with 'and the Sharks From Outer Space' in smaller letters."
"Boy, that's a sore point. Yeah. The record label and our manager insisted on that. We screamed and argued but couldn't stop them. We were turning from being a group of equals into being just Ollie's band. They were also pushing Ollie to do a solo album."
Ashley placed her empty glass on the floor next to her chair, brushed the shiny platinum hair back over her shoulders and sat up straighter. The two men were transfixed. "So I guess you guys fought a lot, huh?"
"No. Not really. Not more than most bands. It's intense for every band."
"We were mostly worried about him, to be honest," Villie added. "Ollie had fears about losing his identity. He was talking like Ollie Moonglow not only in interviews but all the time. One time he admitted he was afraid he was not going to be able to go back, like he was changing permanently."
"It didn't help that the character Ollie played was such a WEIRD bugger," the Beard said. "Very dark. Lots of conspiracy theorists followed our music. We used to get fifty-page letters about how Ollie and the Inner Circle were real. Secretly running the government, using human glands for longevity serums, all kinds of whack ideas. we got threats, even death threats every day."
"It seems Ollie was playing a dangerous game," Megan observed.
"You got that right," said the Beard, going for more bourbon. "He never knew when to draw the line. His philosophy really was 'Too Much Is Never Enough.'"
IV.
Back outside, midnight was settling in. "We were in there longer than I realized," Megan said. "I must admit I enjoyed learning more about how their songs were written and how the lyrics were so often random and meaningless. It invalidates most of my previous interpretations, though."
Leaning up against the side of the red Jeep, Unicorn dug through her pockets and found a stick of chewing gum. "To tell the truth, I was surprised neither of them tried to jump us. You know, get us drunk and say they wanted to talk privately and lure one of us into the bedroom. Kind of a relief they let us go without a fuss."
"Yes," The Trom Girl said with the familiar distant tone. She stood next to her friend, hands in her jacket pockets and gazing down at her feet.
Ashley knew that posture and tone of voice. "I can hear the little wheels spinning in your head," she said.
"Hmmm."
Realizing she might as well have been alone for the moment, Unicorn checked her Link for messages. There were no texts. A single green signal from the headquarters building signified that Sable knew what they were doing and had no objections. The little blonde settled back to wait until her partner was ready.
The Trom Girl raised her head and looked around as if surprised at her surroundings. "I have arrived at conclusions that I do not find appealing from an emotional viewpoint, Ashley. Please call Bleak and ask him where this man Casey Strangle might be found."
"Why me? You could have called him yourself."
"You have more tact and charm, Ashley. My social interactions will never be as self-assured as yours."
"True enough," Unicorn chuckled. "Being raised by a council of dry old sober Trom didn't exactly make you a smooth-talker." She unclipped the Link from her belt and patched into the Verizon system. "Hiiii! Hey there, it's me. Unicorn! What do you mean, WHO? Lissen, we're looking for some goof called Casey Strangle. Yes. Because, that's why. You're not much help tonight. Okay, where's that bar? Uh-huh. And he's there most nights? Great. I know you're on retainer as a source but I'll tell Sable to send you a little bonus."
For a moment, Bleak's sour old-man voice could be heard, then Unicorn fumed. "No, two nice girls like us should not settle down and raise families. Not that we haven't had chances to do exactly that. I'll have you know I've been asked to get married lots of times. What?!" and she broke the contact.
Megan Salenger could not hide her curiosity. "What was that all about?"
"Aw, I said I've been asked to get married lots of time. And he said, Yeah, by my teammates so they could get rid of me."
The chagrin in her voice tickled Megan enough that she smiled. "I believe Bleak teases you because he is very fond of you, Ashley."
"Hmmph. I suppose. Well anyway, we're off to the same dive where Ollie was assaulted. Down in Tribeca. I suppose you want to drive, obeying stop signs and red lights and other inconveniences?"
"That would be best," Megan answered, still with a detached air. They pulled out into the only slightly thinner traffic of midnight and headed south.
Unicorn lightly punched Megan on the right bicep to get her attention. "Come on, stop teasing me. Gimme at least one of your wild theories."
"It is curious that Casey Strangle has escaped arrest for so long. There are eleven felony warrants out for him. Considering his unusual appearance, I find it surprising that he is still at large."
"You mean because of his mitts, right? Everyone that has seen him swears he has hands twice as big as normal. He's physically a freak, as far as that goes. You're right, you'd think he would be recognized as soon as a cop spotted those maulers."
Megan glanced over at her friend. "Consider the possibility his hands are not always that size."
"A shape-shifter? Whoa! That makes sense. You're a genius, Megs."
"It's accurate to describe me that way," the Trom Girl said. "But I believe people would think me immodest not to disagree and downplay my intellect."
"You're gonna grow a sense of irony if it takes forever," Ashley said.
Reaching the address on Reamer Street, Megan circled the block as both of them scrutinized the scene. She found a parking spot three blocks away. When they walked closer, both teammates checked out the area as if expecting an ambush by armed killers at any second. This was what three years in the Midnight War had taught them, and if it might seem paranoid to an outsider, it had kept them alive.
They found THE DYING PLANET painted in gruesome dripping letters on an opaque window on the ground floor of a dingy brick building. Vague Post-Rock music drifted out to them, but no one was in sight. "That is not the establishment we are looking for," Megan observed.
"Nah," agreed Unicorn. "Next to it, though, THAT's where sordid debauchery takes place. Not that I would know from personal experience, ha ha." She pointed to where a wrought iron railing edged concrete steps leading down to a basement window where a single tiny red bulb gave a hellish tone.
While they watched, a young couple went up to the door of the DYING PLANET and entered. A gust of loud mournful music and the scent of pot rolled out while the door was open for that second. The Trom Girl glanced over at her partner, who seemed inclined to follow the couple into the club. "We should do a recon," Megan said.
"I suppose," Unicorn grudgingly agreed. She reached behind herself to loosen the dart gun where it was concealed in its holster by her denim vest. "But honestly I'm aching to teach you how to dance."
"For the moment, we must concentrate on our mission." Megan led her partner into a narrow alley between the clubs' building and the structure next to it. A battered aluminum garbage can was filled with debris and several empty cardboard boxes sat in their way. They found themselves in an open area where the only light came from a neon strip that read simply BEER in orange letters.
"Some stink!" Unicorn grumbled. "Sheesh. I guess this is where guys go to take a leak when the bathroom is occupied."
"It is a distasteful practice, as well as unhygienic," Megan said. "There is no other exit from this area. This is where Ollie was attacked."
As soon as she had said that, the plain wooden door at the rear of the building swung open. A short stocky man stepped out and froze into position as he saw them. "Well. Pardon me, ladies, but would you mind looking the other way?"
Not more than five feet seven but wide in build, the man was wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt that displayed how he had been putting in time at the gym. His dark blond hair was cut short, and his unremarkable face showed a pointed nose and narrow thin-lipped mouth. He flicked a still-burning cigarette to the filthy alley floor as he checked out the two women.
Megan Salenger took a step closer. "Peter Julius Cayce? Known in your criminal career as Casey Strangle?"
"Never heard of him. Look, I'm gonna piss in a second whether you babes are watching or not, I'm just saying."
"We will wait."
Neither woman turned away, so he swung around to face the corner wall. After he was done and had zipped up, the man started back for the door but stopped as he saw Unicorn hold up a thick roll of twenties.
"Well, that's a switch," Strangle guffawed. "Usually it's me flashing cash at girls to get their attention."
"Maybe we can help each other out," the little blonde replied, tucking the money away again. "My friend and I both got cheated bad in a business deal by this grifter. I wouldn't mind reading about him in the obituaries but my friend thinks otherwise."
Megan Salenger made no comment. As usual, her serious-minded expression gave away nothing of what she was thinking but she would have preferred that Ashley had discussed this approach first.
"You can't feel pain and regret if you're dead," Unicorn went on. "Like that rock star, the one who looks like an alien from outer space. You know, the one with hands squished into paste. He had time to feel bad about what had happened to him."
"I'm listening," Strangle said. "But I haven't confirmed anything. You two must have mistaken me for someone else."
The blonde grinned in the gloom where only the small neon sign gave illumination. "Sure, you have to be cautious. I understand that. Listen, whatever the guys in Ollie's band paid you, we'll match it to have you do the same to our swindler."
With a snort, Strangle turned back toward the door. "I trust my nose. It smells a set-up. Like a pair of good-looking cops trying to get me to incriminate myself. I don't know you chicks, I got no reason to do any business with you. Come on in the club if you want, I'm sure some suckers will buy you drinks."
But Unicorn sidestepped into his path. "You're a phony. You're not Casey Strangle, your hands are nothing special. It's a waste of time talking to you."
"You got a big mouth, little girl," he growled and raised his arms. In the murk, his hands swelled up to twice their normal size and became gnarled masses of bone and tendon. Even the nails extended to become claws. "Hah! What do you think of that?"
The Trom Girl's voice was as even and detached as ever, as she moved to place herself between her friend and this man. "That's the confirmation we needed. Mr Cayce, we are authorized by the NYPD to detain you until uniformed officers can take you into custody..."
Her words ended as she dropped low, barely in time to evade a brutal sweeping blow from one of those monstrous paws. Megan's unusual upbringing by the Trom gave her perfect coordination between a finely toned body and a mind that worked with computer speed. Even as she crouched, she kicked the back of Strangle's knee to send him down off balance and lunged in to drive an elbow down hard to the nape of his neck. Her moves were as smooth as if the two of them had rehearsed together for weeks.
Taken completely by surprised, dazed by the blow, Strangle stayed on his hands and knees. He made a choking noise but couldn't speak.
"Here is my theory," the Trom Girl said. "It wasn't the two members of the band who paid you to crush Ollie Moonglow's hands. He himself did it. He was terrified of losing his mind and being unable to return to his true self. With the ability to play guitar lost, Ollie hoped..."
She was interrupted again as Strangle heaved up off the ground and lunged for her with both hands clutching. Megan swerved to one side, seized his nearer arm at wrist and elbow, and used his own momentum to slam his face into the brick wall with a mushy thump. The brute slid down into a loose heap that twitched uncertainly.
"You know, I could have tagged him with the dart gun," Unicorn offered with a trace of being miffed in her voice.
Megan straightened her jacket. "I seldom get a chance to put my Kumundu training into practice, Ashley. I admit I am disappointed he did not choose to confirm my theory. We will try to question him before Department 21 Black arrives."
"Wait, we're bringing FBI agents in on this? I thought the NYPD had a dozen warrants out for this dude!"
"The police actually prefer to turn special cases like this to 21 Black," Megan told her partner. "They want to avoid bringing suspects with gralic abilities to court where the public would learn about the Midnight War. Let me examine him. His nose is bleeding but it is not broken. He is still conscious. Stand by with your dart gun, please, in case he decides to run away."
Ashley Whitaker suddenly blew up. "I might as well have stayed where I was, reading that book! I've been useless on this case. He wasn't interested at all in me hiring him, I never figured out that it was Ollie Whats-his-face who wanted his own hands broken, and I just stood there with my mouth open while you beat him up." She sounded close to stamping her feet in disgust.
"Give me a second," the Trom Girl said. "I realize the way I speak is not always tactful. Ashley, I felt safer with you watching my back. You are the only KDF teammate I am comfortable with enough to relax. And I enjoy your company."
"Oh.. All right. I guess." Unicorn came over and prodded the stunned man with the toe of her sneaker. "But next case, you let me save the day, all right?"
12/11/2021
