"Dee Nile and Her Voice of Doom"
May. 19th, 2022 10:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Dee Nile and Her Voice of Doom"
9/24-9/26/1977
I.
Just as it was getting dark, Jeremy Bane found a parking spot on a residential street in uptown Silent Creek. It had been a cool, drizzly day with a good breeze, exactly his kind of weather. The young Dire Wolf got out of the rented Buick Regal and locked the door carefully. The past twelve hours had contained a lot of new experiences for the twenty-year-old. Arriving here from New York on a commercial flight, renting a car at the airport, driving into an unfamiliar city with just a few maps to guide him. Bane was born and bred in Manhattan and knew every block of that city, but here he was a bit ill at ease.
The Dire Wolf was wearing his usual outfit of all black- slacks, long-sleeved turtleneck and sport jacket. He was just over six feet tall, lean and muscular with the body of a runner. Even at a time when long blow-dried hair was the style, his black hair was short. Beneath heavy brows, cold grey eyes glared out, angry at the world. Bane surveyed the area as if he expected to be ambushed at any second. A life like his had left him permanently suspicious.
II.
The sign at the end of the block said said NEWELL STREET. He walked quickly along it, checking the numbers 714, 716... he spun on his heel and went back the other way. Crossing at the corner, he found 689 Newell Street. It was a three story stone building that looked very old. The windows had green wooden shutters. On the front of the building was a wide window with DOMINIQUE'S - ITALIAN in white italic script. Bane went to the side of the building and found a narrow wooden door at the top of two cement steps. A wrought iron bar protruded with a small sign WBAY FM RADIO. The grey eyes narrowed and the faintest hint of a smile appeared on the feral face.
The door was unlocked. Bane went up steep creaky wooden steps to the landing, where a bench sat under a window. There was a door with a frosted glass panel WBAY THE VOICE OF THE GREAT NORTHWEST. This was going smoothly so far, he thought. Before reaching for the door, the young man did something curious. Reaching up his sleeves, he adjusted the hilts of two silver daggers strapped to his forearms. Only then did he turn the knob and walk in.
This was a good-sized reception room with a couch, some comfortable chairs and a table holding magazines. On the wall was a mural of a coyote howling at the moon and WBAY THE VOICE OF THE GREAT NORTHWEST in the same lettering. A young woman sat behind a desk, behind her was a door marked private. On the wall opposite where he was entering was another, unmarked door with a water cooler beside it. Bane closed the door behind him.
"Good afternoon, can I help you?" She was maybe thirty, a busty beauty in a blue dress with a teased helmet of golden hair. Bane recognized she was attractive and men would find her sexy in a blunt way, but it had no effect on him. He was repressed without even realizing it and didn't react to her at all.
"I'm here representing Kenneth Dred. He talked to the station manager the other day." Even as he spoke, Bane's gaze swept the reception room warily. Nothing seemed unusual.
"Oh yes. I remember. Mr Cullen said to let you right in." She stood up and offered a manicured hand. "I'm Gwen McInerey, just the humble receptionist I'm afraid." Bane shook her hand politely and said, "Jeremy Bane. Do I go through that door there? Thank you."
As he went through the door, the receptionist gave him a puzzled look. Men usually fell all over her and a young guy like this should have flirted a bit. Maybe he was just preoccupied. She went back to signing papers, but with a frown on her full lips.
Bane entered a comfortable office that was warm and dry and smelled of cigars. There was a mounted fish on the wall, shelves of books and a sideboard with bottles of whiskey and shot glasses. Behind the huge desk piled with debris sat a heavyset middle-aged man with a dark brown suit on, but the tie was loosened and the top button open. A soft face under receding grey hair glanced up at him.
"My name's Bane, Mr Cullen. I'm here representing Kenneth Dred." Despite his efforts, there was no warmth in his voice, it was all Bane could do to be civil. "He sent me to discuss his offer."
"Eh? Oh yes, of course. Kenneth Dred, of course. Please have a seat." As the Dire Wolf lowered himself to a red leatherbound chair, Cullen said, "You seem rather young for such responsibility. This would be a large financial undertaking."
"I'm just a messenger," Bane answered. "What do you need to know?"
Gordon J Cullen tapped a pen on his desk. "Hum. Well. I'm curious how Dred even knows about us. We're a small station in Idaho, he's back in New York City. Our signal doesn't reach three thousand miles."
"Mr Dred has friends out here," Bane answered, following the story they had rehearsed. "They called him. Your station is getting popular. He told me your programming has appealed to a wide range. Especially your overnight disc jockey, Dee Nile."
Cullen smiled fondly. "Oh, yes yes. Our Dee has quite a following. So Kenneth Dred wants to pay for a new transmitter that will cover twice the current broadcast area."
"And in return, he will get a small percentage of your increased profits. Mr Dred has a lot of deals like this going on." Bane hoped he sounded convincing. All this posing was new to him and he was blunt by nature.
"I see. Well." Cullen seemed distracted to the point of being beffudled. Bane wondered if he was always like this. "I will have to discuss it with Mam- I mean, the station owner. But I believe it will seem like a good idea. Are you going to be in the area for a day or so?"
"Yes. I'll be staying at a motel just outside of town. I'll call here with the number of my room so you can reach me." As Cullen stood up, Bane did the same. The manager of WBAY smiled and showed him to the door. "I hope to have an answer early tonight as soon as I talk to her. How late may I call you?"
"Middle of the night if necessary," Bane said. Pausing at the door, he glanced back. "I'd like to look around the station to tell Mr Dred what he's investing in. That all right?"
"Oh. Certainly, certainly. Gwen will introduce you. We have a small staff." Cullen sat down, still smiling warmly and watched Bane let himself out. Out in the reception room, the Dire Wolf stepped up to the gorgeous blonde at her desk. "Your boss wants you to show me around a little."
"My pleasure," she beamed, getting up and smoothing down her snug dress, still getting no reaction from this strange young man. "Please." She led him through the unmarked door into a narrow hallway. To their right was a storeroom with an open door showing a mop in a bucket. Opposite that was a bathroom. Two more doors were located further down the hall, both wide open, and at the end of the hall was a huge glass window leading into the main studio.
Gwen McInery stuck her golden head inside the first door. "Chad? This is Mr Bane, he's here about the new transmitter. A slim man in his early thirties rose from behind a cluttered desk in a tiny office. He had blow-dried light brown hair and wore very tight jeans and a tan shirt unbuttoned halfway down. "Hi!" he said and offered a hand. "Chad Alger, I'm program director. Hope the deal goes through. We could use some new listeners."
"We'll hope for the best," Bane said as Gwen ushered him out. They went into a much larger, brightly lit room which held three desks, a counter with a coffee pot and open box of donuts, and bulletin boards on every wall. There was a UPI teletype in one corner. As they entered, a thin old man sprang up out of his chair as if he were alarmed. He wore a yellow bow tie on a blue shirt and slacks, and his metal-rimmed glasses had thick lenses that left his eyes unreadable.
As Bane was introduced, the nervous man grinned uneasily. "Really? Kenneth Dred is interested in us? I've read of him. You know he's one of the richest men in America, don't you? Yet he writes those books about ghosts and werewolves, quite extraordinary." He stopped himself and held out his hand, which Bane shook. "Junior Perlman, news director. I work the streets of this town."
"Good to meet you," the Dire Wolf said as the blonde tugged him from the room. "Our sales manager isn't here right now. Dee comes in at eleven. That just leaves our day DJ, Captain Trips."
Standing in the hall outside the studio, Bane looked in at a room lined with electronic equipment and shelves of cassettes and LP albums. Working a turntable and speaking into a boom mike at face level was a tired-looking man in his fifties, with a beer belly pushing out his T-shirt and a week's growth of beard under a bristly mustache. The man wore tinted glasses. As Bane watched, Gwen turned a dial on a mounted speaker next to them and the man's mellow voice flowed out.
"...no disco, remember folks, you are spared the horrors of disco here, we play good old Rock and Roll the way God intended, right now for example, let's kick back and enjoy some Aerosmith doing "Dream ON," crank it up, make your car windows rattle..."
Bane frowned. "You have only two DJs?"
"Right now," she admitted. "We play pre-recorded talk shows and we have a two hour concert at 8 called 'Live From Silent Creek.' But Cap does work long hours. Our engineer Rickie works out at the transmitter, we communicate with him over the phone."
The Dire Wolf glanced around the hallway. "Is there anything else I should report to Mr Dred about?"
"I suppose you will want to meet Dee," the blonde sniffed. "She's quite the local celebrity. Dee comes in around eleven-thirty, she's on the air from midnight to five. If you want to come back then, just buzz and she'll let you in. She's not very security conscious."
Bane was as serious as ever as he met her gaze. "Maybe I will come back. Mr Dred was curious about her show. Thank you." He turned and walked out without any further pleasantries. Gwen pouted at his lack of appreciation for her, not to mention his lack of manners but she watched him go with interest. There was some intense energy in him, some wolfish spirit, that she found very attractive.
Back on the street, Bane started back toward his rented car. He had met four people at the station so far, that just left the salesman and Dee Nile herself. And the owner, of course. The question was, which of them was behind the murders?
II.
Heading out of town, he pulled into a Howard Johnson's he had spotted on his way in. It would do as well as any other motel and was only ten minutes from the radio station. Bane got his knapsack from the back seat and surveyed the parking lot for a minute before entering the lobby. He checked in and rented a room for the next two days. The only one on the ground floor that was available was on the other end of the building but that was fine with him. Bane headed down the long hallway, past the laundry room and the little nooks which held Coke machines and ice dispensers. He looked up and down the hall before unlocking his door and slipping quickly in.
Bane's constant surveillance of his surroundings might seem odd to someone who casually observed it. But the Dire Wolf had survived many serious attacks on his life already and he intended to continue to survive. He examined the room quickly, inspecting everything the way someone buying a used car might. He made sure the window was locked, pulled the chain on the door and relaxed a little. Going over to the short couch in front of the TV, he thought for a few moments before calling long distance. Back in New York City, Kenneth Dred answered instantly. The subdued, friendly voice was one of the few that Bane trusted and was glad to hear.
As Dred listened without interruption, Bane reported in as much detail as he could manage. He was learning to be able to repeat conversations word for word. "And here I am in Room 117 of the Howard Johnsons on Rte 34. That's the situation."
"Very good, Jeremy," said Dred's voice. "You intend to go back and meet Dee Nile tonight?"
"Yeah. Everyone there seems to have mixed feelings about her. Any further instructions?"
"Not at this time. Let's summarize. Three months ago, this station started featuring a young woman overnight, playing some modern jazz. She called herself Dee Nile. As a running joke, she mentioned she would welcome donations to her college fund but couldn't promise any favors in return. Money started pouring in, often just cash in envelopes with no return address. The number of her listeners increased. Two weeks ago, she made a personal appearance at a local bistro to sign autographs and traffic was stopped by the size of the crowd."
Dred paused and Bane broke in impatiently. "But the two deaths! They took place before that, right?"
"Yes," Dred continued. "One month ago, a local businessman named Lionel Swarthout attempted to buy the radio station. He wanted to change the format to religious programming. The station had not been making a profit and the owner was said to be considering it. Swarthout shot himself in the head with a newly purchased handgun, leaving no note and no motivation. Police got nowhere figuring it out."
Bane stood up. His enhanced metabolism made him constantly jumpy and restless. He began pacing as far as he could while still holding the phone. "Then there was the second funny death, right?"
"Yes. That was the one that caught my attention. A woman named Christine Misner wrote two letters to the local newspaper complaining that Dee Nile was a corrupting influence on the community. Some undefined moral offenses were mentioned. Soon after that, Mrs Misner was found drowned in a creek not far from her house. What struck me was a report that the night before the death, Dee Nile had mentioned Christine Misner on the air and said, quote 'old snoops like her should go soak their heads.'"
Bane snorted but caught himself. "Sorry, sir. That caught me by surprise. It sounds as if there may be something weird going on."
"Very much so," came Dred's voice. "I spoke with the editor of the newspaper. He told me that there was a third letter which they did not publish. In it, Mrs Misner accussed Dee Nile of witchcraft."
"Oh, that's getting interesting," Bane said. "Now I see how this might be in our area."
"I don't have to tell you to be careful, Jeremy. I know you always are. Those silver daggers will protect you against many things, including hexes and spells. They protected me for decades. But nothing is perfect. Be on your guard."
"I will, sir," said the young Dire Wolf. "Don't worry. I'll report as soon as I get anywhere."
"Did you eat? You left the house late yesterday. Did you stop for a meal yet?"
"Not yet. I will get something now, though. Dee Nile won't be at the studio for a few hours yet. I will call you. Goodbye."
"Take care, son," came the voice before a click ended the conversation.
Bane hung up the phone and looked down at it. It made him feel oddly pleased that Dred had asked him if he had eaten. No one had really cared about his welfare before. Growing up a nameless orphan on the streets, Bane had been taken in by a few shady 'guardians' who used him to steal and beg for them. At eleven, he had been big enough to strike out on his own. This had been when his puberty growth spurt had somehow triggered abnormal reflexes. Even at eleven, Bane had been so quick and agile he could fight full-grown men. Living by theft was easy for him then. He had kept to himself without joining a gang, moving constantly around the city without a friend. He touched no one and no one touched him.
Then a few months ago, he had met Kenneth Dred. The dry, soft-spoken old man had somehow learned about Bane and hired him as a field agent to investigate some bizarre crimes. The money offered was good and Bane was afraid of nothing that lived, so he had agreed. The two had gotten along and Bane had even been invited to move into Dred's home on 38th Street as a bodyguard and assistant.
That had come after the long night he had come near death. When he was almost killed by a beast he thought could not exist, and when Dred sat with the wounded young man until he woke up from a fever, understanding the real horrors that threatened the human race. When he became the Dire Wolf in fact as well as name....
Bane shook himself in annoyance. There was work to do. He left the room, checking that the door was locked behind him and hurried down the long hallway to the restaurant at the front of the building.
III.
After plowing through a platter of fish and chips, tomato soup and apple pie, Bane calmed down a little. His metabolism meant he was always starving. Finishing a second glass of apple juice, he glanced at his watch. Only nine. He ordered a mixed sub to go and took it with him back to his room. Stopping in the lobby, the Dire Wolf paused to buy two local newspapers. Once settled back in, he devoured the sub and could easily have eaten a second one. He never put on weight, his body burned calories at a furious rate.
Bane studied the newspapers intently. It was a strange eccentricity that he never watched TV or movies or even listened to music but he was obsessed with newspapers. He himself just accepted the preference and never thought about it. Even the want ads fascinated him, although he had never been in Idaho before and would likely never come back again.
Finishing up, he stripped down to shorts and T-shirt and did push-ups, some on one arm and some on fingertips. He stretched and shadow-boxed, checking out his readiness. He felt good, ready for anything. Bane took a shower and got dressed, putting on a fresh blackturtleneck from his knapsack. Strapped to his forearms, hilts forward, were the two silver daggers given to him by Kenneth Dred. He made sure he could draw them if needed. In just two two months, they had already saved his life three times and he had no intention of ever going anywhere without them. The more he learned of the Midnight War, the more he was determined to thrive in it.
From his knapsack, he took a detachable holster and threaded it through his belt just behind his left hip (he was left-handed). Bane examined the .38 Colt with care before holstering it. Sometimes he used a .45 automatic but he was more comfortable with the revolver and found it more accurate. The Dire Wolf shrugged into his black sport jacket and glanced around the room once more before heading out.
In the rented car, he returned to the same spot where he had parked a few hours earlier. There was a pick-up truck there. He had to go another block to find an opening. At just after eleven, he circled around to come up on the building at 689 Newell Street where WBAY was. Two blocks away, he faded into the doorway of a shoe store to watch. His night vision kicked in, he could not explain this to anyway but he was nocturnal to an abnormal degree. It was not raining at the moment but the air was misty.
At twenty after eleven, he watched as a white Chevy van slowed in front of the building. A young woman with light brown hair, wearing a raincoat, got out of the passenger side and waved cheerfully as the van pulled away. Dee Nile, he supposed. It was odd that someone who supposedly had such a devoted following didn't have any fans waiting to pester her where she was known to work. Bane waited a few more minutes, then walked around the area looking for anything suspicious. Like himself, he thought wryly. No one sitting in a car, no faces peering out of windows.
He headed for the building. The Italian restaurant was dark. Bane found the side door open and trotted silently up the steps. At the landing, he listened but heard nothing. There was a white buzzer at the door that said WBAY and he pressed it twice. After a minute, the door opened inward and a grizzled mustached face peered out at him. Captain Trips.
"You're not the pizza," he said with obvious disappointment.
"No," said Bane. He walked in past the DJ as if he had been invited in and Trips stepped aside obligingly.
"Mind telling me why you're here? Not for MY autograph, certainly."
The Dire Wolf turned his pale eyes on Trips, who flinched a bit at the stare. "But then, I could ask why are you here this late?" Bane asked.
"Aw, I lost my apartment. Something about being behind on the rent," muttered the DJ. "So the big fella says I can sleep here for a week or so. The couch in the reception room is more comfortable than my bed was, anyway."
Bane nodded. "Maybe Mr Cullen mentioned me. My name is Bane."
"Yeah. You work for some gentleman back East who wants to invest in a new tower. Sounds good. You know it's after eleven, right?"
"I'm supposed to meet Dee Nile before I go back," Bane said.
"That figures. Come on. I gotta warn you, though, she's not gonna go out with you." He led the Dire Wolf through the reception room, where the couch had a pillow and a rumpled blanket on it, through the inner door and down the hall. Through the wide window, they could look inside Studio A where Dee Nile was on the air.
IV.
Maybe twenty-three at the most, Dee Nile was tall and slim, with long glossy beown hair that reached her shoulder blades. Seated at the console, she was wearing a blue cardigan over a white blouse and the edge of a pleated skirt could be seen. The young woman was speaking into the microphone and Bane reached over to turn up the speaker mounted on the wall next to him.
"...again, the girlfriend you never knew you had. That's me, Dee Nile, coming to you on this dark rainy night with some laid-back sounds to calm your soul. Here's a favorite from a few years ago, I remember kissing a boy in the dark while this played, it's 'Masquerade' by George Benson..." Bane turned the speaker off as the music started. He didn't hear anything special about her voice. It was pleasant and friendly, but nothing extraordinary. He went over and opened the door to the studio despite the lit sign that said ON AIR - NO ADMITTANCE. Nile clicked off her mike and gave him a slight smile, "Something I can help you with? Hey, Captain, you let him in?"
The morning DJ shrugged and went back down the hall toward the reception room. Bane watched him go, and then turned back to her. Dee Nile had a pale oval face with full lips and a straight, slightly pointed nose. Her eyes were hazel and quizzical.
"I guess we have a few minutes before you have to start talking again," Bane said. "I'm here on business. I'm working for a man who wants to invest in this station."
"Ohhhhh," she said with relief. "Right. Captain Tripd told me a little, some guy Kenneth Dred back in New York. You were here earlier today. Great, What do you want with me?"
"You seem to be a big part of this station's popularity," he began.
"Hold that thought," she said and cut in her microphone again. "You're listening to WBAY from Silent Creek, the Voice of the Great Northwest and of course I'm Dee Nile, the girlriend you never knew you had. We have news and weather coming up in just a few minutes, but first, let's enjoy some Jean-Luc Ponty, this one is a favorite." As the music came back up, she smiled at the Dire Wolf. "Well, now you've seen me. Anything else?"
He decided to start the investigation. "We do want to know a little about the tragic deaths this past month."
"Oh, so THAT'S it!" she blew up. "No way. I'm tired of being questioned and harassed. You need to go away." Suddenly her voice had a faint echo to it. "Get Lost."
Jeremy Bane turned around and left the studio without a word. He went down the hall, past the sleeping DJ on the couch in the reception room and back down the stairs. Once outside, he started walking. At each corner, he turned left or right at random. Bane's face was blank, as if he were daydreaming. After twenty minutes, he came across a railroad track and he followed that for a few miles before heading into a wooded area.
A full hour after he had met Dee Nile, Bane gave a shudder and looked around him. For the longest time, he stood motionless. How had he gotten out here? Where the hell was he, out in a forest somewhere in the middle of the night? He didn't seem injured. He felt fine. But what was going on?
In the near distance, a train rumbled by. He remembered something about railroad tracks recently and he started heading for the sound. He got there just as the last car rolled past. Bane studied the terrain and decided he should go left along the tracks to get back where he had come from. He wasn't certain about it, it was just a hunch. As he walked along, Bane checked his watch. One-fifteen. Now he remembered what he could not recall a few seconds earlier. He had met Dee Nile and she had told him to get lost.
IV.
It was close to three before Bane spotted an area of town he recognized in the gloom. Soon after that, he was walking up to the rented car and he looked across the street at the stone building that housed the WBAY station. Dee Nile was in there, talking into the mike, sending her voice out into the night. Should he go back in and confront her? He didn't think so. What would he say? He realized that if she were annoyed at seeing him, she might well tell him to go jump off a bridge. And he would do it.
No. It annoyed him to turn away but he needed a plan. Bane started up the car and drove back to the Holiday Inn. He went in through a side door near his room, kicked off his boots and hung his jacket over a chair. Anger made him pace back and forth. Finally, he took the holstered revolver off his belt and slipped it under his pillow. He was still deciding what to do. Bane finally checked that the bolt was on the door, turned off the light and stretched out on the bed fully dressed. He fell asleep debating his next move.
At just after nine, he jolted awake and sat up. Sunlight was coming in through the curtains. Bane didn't spend time yawning or smacking his lips, his body came up to full awareness instantly. Getting out of bed, realizing he was still dressed from the night before, he reached for the phone just as it rang. "Hello?"
"Hi, hi there, is this Mr Bane? This is Gordon Cullen from WBAY."
"Yeah. Morning. What's going on?" Bane said too bluntly for a business representative.
"oh, well, I spoke with Mama last night, that's Mrs Cullen, she's the owner of the station. She's very interested and wants you to go out to the house this afternoon. Say around four?"
"Fine," answered Bane. "I just need the address."
"Of course. Our house is just outside town on Rte 34. Past the community college. It's up on a hill, there's a sign that says CULLEN. I'll tell her you're going to be there."
"Thanks," Bane said. "I might stop by the station to get some details this afternoon."
"No problem. I'll be in my office, young fella. Bye."
As the man hung up, Bane began turning the cast of suspects over in his head. Dee Nile obviously had some strange power of making people follow what she said out loud. But she didn't seem aware of it. She could have told Bane to explain who he was and why he was investigating, but she had just blurted out a common phrase without thinking. Strange. Did that mean someone was behind her? Possibly someone with black magick?
In just over two months with Kenneth Dred, Bane had witnessed some a lot of inexplicable phenomena. He had taken the sensible attitude to deal with the bizarre events as they happened and worry later if they were possible. The idea that someone was using a spell to give Dee Nile a sort of witchcraft voice was not as crazy as some of the things he had seen recently. Picking up the phone again, he dialed the number of the house on East 38th Street back in NYc.
Kenneth Dred picked up immediately. "Hello?" said the familiar voice.
"It's me, sir. Have I got something to report..." The more he recapped events, the better he got at spotting details and remembering conversations in the first place. Working for Dred was making him a better observer. Dred's suggestion that someday Bane might become a licensed Private Investigator did not seem as far-fetched.
When Bane was done, Dred asked a few questions, then said, "Remarkable. I haven't actually encountered this phenomenon before. I've heard of it. My friend Mark Drum fought someone called Harvey Gough back in the 1950s. The Voice of Doom, he called it. A Darthan potion gave him the power."
"Yeah? How did he handle the problem?"
"It was typical of Drum," said Kenneth Dred. "He slipped a chemical irritant into Gough's potion and the man burned his throat and escophagus so he couldn't speak. I don't think you will be able to do that, Jeremy."
"No," Bane admitted. "I'm not tricky. I'm meant to attack straight on. And I can't just slug this girl in the studio, the cops would lock me up and what could I say?"
"Jeremy, I suggest you watch the people around this young woman. One of them is supplying her with a Darthan potion, probably without her knowing it. One of them knows forbidden magicks and is the real menace here."
Bane was scowling. "How about stuffing cotton in my ears? Or those foam rubber earplugs?"
"They didn't work for Mark Drum," said the voice of his mentor. "Perhaps you should best avoid this Dee Nile for the moment. Go meet with Mrs Cullen this evening. Look for clues. I would be cautious, though."
"I understand. Thanks for everything, Mr Dred. I'll report as soon as something pops."
"Good luck, son. Goodbye," and Dred hung up on the other end.
Jeremy Bane hung up the phone. If anyone else had called him "son," he would be furious. But Kenneth Dred had the right. The young Dire Wolf decided he needed to take another look at the radio station. He stripped down and took a hot shower, shaving while he was in there. As he toweled off, Bane was revealed as a startling sight, gaunt but muscular with almost zero body fat. As soon as he was dry, he strapped the silver daggers back on again. He quickly got into plain cotton socks, underwear, a black T-shirt. Over them went his black slacks and the same long-sleeved black turtleneck he had been wearing the night before.
Bane threaded on the belt with the holstered .38 revolver behind his left hip. The sport jacket hid that. In its pockets he had started carrying a few specialized items he was starting to need. A leather case held a lockpick set, and although he wasn't good at opening locks yet, he kept practicing. A small plastic box held adhesive bandages, antiseptic cream and burn lotion. The checkbook for Dred's account went in the right front pocket, which buttoned.
In his pants pockets went the usual wallet, car keys, handkerchief that most men carried. He brought two cigarette lighters. He didn't smoke but he thought there might come a time when he needed a fire for a distraction. Bane inspected himself in the mirror briefly. The pale grey eyes jumped out at him. He thought maybe sunglasses would be a good idea, those distinctive eyes made it too easy to identify him.
Before he left, the Dire Wolf stopped at the Howard Johnson's restaurant section and ate a double serving of French toast, bacon and scrambled eggs. He was always hungry. Then he went out and started up the rental car. As he headed up O'Neil Street, he spotted a drugstore and pulled over suddenly at an unexpected idea. He came out with a small bag and pleased expression on his face. Now he felt more confident about the situation.
Up by Newell Street, he found a convenient spot. There were no parking meters in this mostly residential area. Bane locked the car and walked up the stairs to the landing again, feeling a creepy chill at the thought he had left here the night before in a brainwashed state. He patted what he had put inside his inside breast pocket for reassurance. The Dire wolf buzzed and was let in.
Gwen McInery greeted him with a brilliant smile. She was wearing a dark skirt and jacket, open to reveal an impressive bust ledge in a white blouse with a scoop neckline. It was wasted on Bane, who said, "Hello. Mr Dred wants me to watch the station a little more."
"Really? Well, I'm sure that will be no problem. What would you like to do?"
"Just talk to the staff. If this station gets busier, some expansion would be needed. Perhaps a live crew for covering concerts." Bane was making this up and he felt pleased at the improvisation.
"Really?" she repeated, standing up straight to throw her shoulders back just a bit. "Perhaps you would like to speak with Junior. He just finished the local news and he'll be in the staff room."
As they went through the door and down the hall, Bane said, "What's his real name?"
"Oh, it's Henry Perlman. His father's name was Bernard. He's not really a Junior, that's just what everyone calls him."
Bane spent a half-hour with the excitable little man. He quickly discovered that Junior had an exaggerated sense of his own importance and was sure a Pulitzer Prize in Journalism was in his future. Mostly, he wanted to talk about the books Kenneth Dred had written.
"My favorite has to be BEHIND THE CURTAINS OF THE COMMONPLACE. It influenced me greatly. I've always know the supernatural is all around us, hidden in plain sight. How exciting it must be to work for a great man like Mr Dred. If I get out to the East Coast, do you think I could meet him?"
"I'll ask him," Bane said. "Tell me, Junior. Have you ever found evidence of the supernatural out here? Strange animals, bizarre murders?"
"Absolutely!" the small man peered back and forth at the empty room where they sat by his desk. "Witches. I am convinced there is a coven in this area. In my apartment, I have my notes hidden carefully but when I have more conclusive proof, I'm going to expose them."
"I see. That could be dangerous, you know. I'd wait until I was out of this area before exposing them. Just to be safe." There was no mockery in Bane's voice. He had already met Red Sect.
"Very prudent. Thank you. I don't know if you've heard about the woman who drowned in Silent Creek?"
"Yes. I was told that happened right after your own DJ recommended the woman soak her head. Kind of ironic."
"Oh, it's more than ironic, Mr Bane. I have a theory about Dee Nile.." He broke off as Captain Trips entered the room and headed for the coffee pot. Bane stood up and went over to join the man.
The daytime DJ was wearing a black T-shirt that said KISS WORLD TOUR on the front, faded jeans and sneakers that had seen better days. He still had not shaved, he still had sunglasses on inside. As he spotted Bane, he said, "Hey. You sure left quick last night."
"She told me to get lost," Bane said honestly. "If you're in here, who's on the air?"
"Oh, we're playing a prerecorded talk show. 'Medical Answers,' we buy it and can play it twice. It gives me time for a nap. I'm here twelve hours most days." Captain Trips glanced over at the newsman and smiled. "Has Junior been telling you about the local witches?"
Bane said, "How do you feel about that?"
The DJ put down his mug for a refill and fumbled with the milk. "I wouldn't laugh it off, my friend. I'll tell you the truth, strange things have been going on here for years now. Things we're warned not to discuss on the air. Two girls disappeared from the community college and were hardly mentioned in the papers. People have seen things they only talk about if you meet them outside town. No sir, it's no joke."
"It's no joke to me," said the Dire Wolf. "I want to learn more."
"Hang around this place, you'll learn more than you really want to... oh hell, I've said too much. Me for my nap. Roust me in forty minutes, Junior."
"Sure, Steve." Junior evidently used the DJ's real name. To Bane, he continued, "This city is in a grip of fear we dare not even talk about. But you... there's something about you. You're different."
Bane turned those pale eyes on the newsman. "Maybe I can clean things up a bit."
"I think you can do just that. You seem tough. Even dangerous. Listen, when you go see Mama Cullen tonight, don't drink anything.." Again he broke off as this time a short man in a loud salmon-colored polyester leisure suit with a pink shirt rushed in. His hair was teased to the point it looked as if he had it permed.
"Good news, Junior!" the man boomed. "Old man Schonger agreed to run some commercials for the next week. His lumber yard needs the business and we need the money! I want you to record the voiceover as soon as I-" The man's bombastic voice trailed off. "Oh, hey there."
"My name's Bane, I represent a man who wants to build a new transmitter for this station."
"Heard about that! Great news," he shoved out his hand, and Bane reflected he had never shaken so many hands within a twenty-four hour period. "Name's Simpkins, Joe John Simpkins. I'm the man you talk to about advertising. Got to go, lots to do, always busy." He turned and bustled out again.
"Will there be anything else, Mr Bane?" asked Junior apologetically. "I have to check the teletype and get ready for the 1:00 updates."
"No," the Dire Wolf said. "You've been a big help. I'll be around." He left the staff room, said goodbye to the receptionist and let himself out. Behind her desk, Gwen McInery took out her compact and inspected her image. Maybe there was something wrong with that boy, she looked just fine.
V.
Back in the rental car, Bane eased out into traffic. He had a lot to digest from that short discussion in the studio. As he went through uptown, he saw a phone booth on a corner and pulled over. On the back seat was a tobacco pouch full of change. The Dire Wolf stepped into the glass booth, pulled the door shut behind him and the light went on. He dialed New York and added coins until the coin went through. A second later, Kenneth Dred answered, "Yes?"
"Me again, sir. I had an interesting talk with some of the staff," and he repeated the conversations as closely as he could. Dred listened and said it was a suggestive development.
"I have done some research here, Jeremy. Listen closely. Mrs Greta Cullen, aged sixty-eight, is the owner of WBAY and the part-publisher of the local newspaper NORTHWEST JOURNAL. Her son Gordon is managed of the radio station. Until his death, her husband ran the newspaper. So Mrs Cullen controls to a large extent what news gets out of that city."
Bane grunted. "That sounds dangerous."
"It is. The two recent deaths were barely covered and the outside world hardly heard about them. Silent Creek is close to being silent altogether. I've also learned that as a young woman, she was seen in the company of Clinton Lundborg."
"Red Sect! Them again. I get you, Mr Dred. I'll straighten these warlocks out. Anything else?"
"No, Jeremy. I just hope the knowledge will be a help."
"Thank you, sir," Bane said as the phone clicked off on the other end. He left the phone booth and get back in his car. On his way to Rte 34, he stopped to fill the tank. From the start, he had developed a habit of getting cars fuelled up, with the tires and fluids checked frequently. One bad chase on a winter night with a car that stalled had given him this habit. Heading out of town, he kept coming up with plans on how to handle the situation without ending up in jail or even on Death Row.
As he past a low stone gateway with a wooden sign HELSINGER COUNTY COMMUNITY COLLEGE, he knew he was going the right way. The bank to his left sloped down toward Silent Creek, which was running pretty quick and which looked more like a river to him. The water was dark and cold. Up ahead, a hill rose overlooking Silent Creek and atop it sat a very neat three-story house that might qualify as a mansion. There was a stone patio, a detached garage big enough for two cars and a neat hedges encircling the building. Bane checked his watch. He was on time.
Pulling up the driveway, he found himself parking next to a gleaming black Lincoln. The cars sat on a paved area that looked down the steep hill to Silent Creek itself. Was that where the Misner woman had drowned herself? Bane got out of the car and, as he closed the door, the young program director from WBAY stepped out of the other car. He was wearing a winter coat with a fur collar. "Hello, Mr Bane."
"Chad. I was expected."
"Of course," said Chad Alger with a smile that looked entirely forced. "Mama Cullen will be out in a second. Oh, here she is. Good evening, ma'am."
"Did you get my vehicle serviced?" asked a brittle voice. Mrs Greta Cullen looked older than her years, even frail. She was thin and leaned on a wooden cane with a curved handle. The expensive tailored clothes, the carefully tended hair and nails, the lipstick.. none of it made her look young and healthy. Beneath a shag of platinum hair, sharp blue eyes peered out at her visitor.
Standing beside Mrs Cullen, helping to support her with one arm, was Dee Nile.
VI.
Bane had not expected that. The young woman was wrapped in her beige raincoat, with a red scarf around her throat. She was really quite pretty but the disdain in her eyes worked against that. Standing next to her boss, Nile gave Bane a cold stare and said nothing.
"Good evening," Bane began, but the old woman cut him off.
"Don't waste your time. I know why you're here. We of Red Sect know the name of Kenneth Dred all too well. You yourself are on our enemies list after what you do to our coven in Manhattan. The Dire Wolf....! Bah. You will not live long enough to make a name for yourself."
Bane was not entirely surprised. He had seen the hatred in her eyes as she approached and the fact she had known the founder of Red Sect just confirmed his suspicions. She was the witch. She was the one brewing the Velkandu potion that gave Dee Nile that strange power.
"Well, then, I guess there is no point in dragging this out," he said, moving toward her.
Mrs Cullen turned to glare at Dee Nile. "Tell him. Tell him to dive into Silent Creek. In this cold, he'll freeze within minutes."
The young woman seemed confused. "But.. that's crazy. Why would I say that?"
"Do as I say or you'll be looking for a new job!"
Dee Nile turned her hazel eyes on Bane and took a breath. Before she could speak, his hand darted into his inner breast pocket and came up with a pair of headphones which he clamped tightly over his ears. In his pocket was an AM/FM radio set between stations and turned up. All he heard was furious static. He saw Dee Nile's lips move but he heard nothing.
"You tricky little..." said Alger. "You'll be just another missing person." He leaped toward Bane, hands clutching, and met by a single sharp left cross that spun him completely around. He was still barely standing and a backfist by Bane with the same hand lifted him off his feet and onto his back with a thud. The Dire Wolf saw that both Mrs Cullen and Dee Nile were talking but all he could hear was static from his Walkman.
Time to end this, he thought. He bent over the snoring Chad Alger and dragged the man over to the Lincoln and dumped him in the passenger seat. Fishing the car keys from the man's pocket, then handed them to Mrs Cullen. The old woman snatched them angrily, not sure what to do. As both of them stared, Bane drew his .38, thumbed off the safety and pointed the barrel four inches away from the younger woman's face.
Dee Nile went white. Her eyes bulged out comically. Having a loaded gun in her face was something she had never expected to experience and her heart was pounding furiously. Both women froze.
Even though he could barely hear himself, Bane shouted, "Listen. Tell her to get in her car and drive into the creek full speed. Tell her!" As Dee Nile hesitated, he thumbed back the hammer and the cylinder rotated so a bullet was ready in the chamber. The young woman was shaking. She yelled, "Do it. Get in your car and drive into Silent Creek. Do it now!"
And Greta Cullen obeyed. Stiffly, resisting every inch, she walked slowly to her car and got in. She gunned the motor and raced down the hill to splash into the turgid waters of Silent Creek. Dee Nile started to move but Bane held the gun on her and she froze. It didn't take long for the Lincoln to sink beneath the choppy waters with a few huge bubbles bursting on the surface.
"That's the only way the murders would stop," Bane said. He lowered the gun and closed the hammer carefully. "Look, don't speak. You saw what happens when you talk. Right?"
She nodded, still staring at him the way she would be watching a starving wolf at close range.
"Don't talk. Just nod or shake your head. I know that woman was giving something special to drink every day. Some special tea or juice or something, correct?"
She nodded vigorously and suddenly slumped as it seemed this madman was not going to kill her right away. He continued questioning her and it came out that Mrs Cullen required that Nile drink a special "imported ginseng tea" every morning and again in the afternoon. She had not had her cup yet that afternoon, he had interrupted them by showing up early.
"So the effect must wear off pretty quickly," he said. Bane turned down the static from his Walkman a little, it was giving him a headache. "Okay. You may not believe this. It doesn't really matter. But she was a witch and she was feeding you a potion that gave your voice a compelling power. When the potion kicks in, people are forced to obey your spoken orders. No, no, don't talk now. Just listen."
As he explained, it all sank in. Dee Nile started to cry at the understanding she had been used as a weapon. The deaths resulting from phrases she said over the air were convincing. When Bane explained he himself had wandered into the woods after she told him to get lost, her tears really poured.
Bane holstered his gun. He thought she would cooperate now. The young woman was staring at the river where nothing could be seen of Mrs Cullen or of Chad Alger. She turned to Bane in complete dissaray and he said, "They're both dead. It had to be done. They killed five people between them and they could never be arrested. They would keep using you as a living weapon, one perfect murder after another."
She seemed to understand and parted her lips but he clamped his hand over her mouth. "No. No talking yet. Let's get in my car. You'll be safe with me." Somehow she had come to trust Bane, maybe it was sinking in what he had saved her from. She meekly got into the passenger seat as he took the wheel.
On the way back to the town, Bane told that she had to stick to the following story. She had not been out to the Cullen house that day. She knew nothing about the tragic accident that sent the car into Silent Creek. It wasn't until she reported for her shift at the station that she had any idea there had been trouble.
Dee Nile was watching Bane with huge hazel eyes. Her tears had stopped. Before they reached town, he pulled over. "I don't look forward to doing this but we have to see if the effect has faded. It's been twelve hours since you drank that tea. Nod yes or no."
She confirmed it.
"Okay. Now listen. Stick to what I say. Tell me to do something pointless. Pat myself on top of the head. Tell me that but not another word more."
Dee Nile took a breath. "Pat.. pat yourself on top of your head."
Bane felt no inclination to do so. "Something else. Tell me to scream as loud as I can."
"Scream as loud as you can," she ordered.
When he felt no compulsion to obey, the Dire Wolf exhaled in relief. "Whew. I guess it's over. That was rough. Okay, Dee.. wait, what's your real name?"
"Dee IS my real name," she mumbled. "My last name is Witt."
"Okay, Dee. I'm going to return you to where you live. Can you go on the air tonight as if nothing has happened?"
"I think so. Yes. I'm sure I can." She wiped her face. "But what's going to happen?"
"The police will go to the Cullen house. Either because no one answers the phone or because the son goes there and can't find anyone. They may not think to search Silent Creek for a while. Having that Chad disappear at the same time will confuse the situation." He pulled up in front of a red brick apartment complex and slid into its parking lot. "You keep to your story and deny everything. They can't bring any evidence against you because there is none."
She was staring at him in horrified fascination. "You do this sort of thing often?"
"All the time," he answered. "If you do seem to be getting blamed, Mr Dred will send a very expensive lawyer from New York City to get you off the hook. All right?"
"I suppose." She opened her door and looked back at him. "I suppose I should thank you.. for freeing me, if that's what you did. I'm still not sure I believe any of this happened. I expect to wake up in bed and go, Gosh what a nightmare."
Bane said, "I'll meet you when you get off your shift. You can talk on the phone to Mr Dred, he's a lot smarter than I am. He can explain things better."
Without a further word, she got out of the car and rushed through the front door of her apartment building. As she glanced back, she saw Bane drive away. Dee felt exhausted as if she had been awake for days. She hurried to her tiny apartment and locked the front door behind her. She had to be delusional. None of that could have happened. Well, she would go to work in a few hours as if everything was normal and see what was going on.
She felt like she needed a nap desperately, so she set her alarm for eleven. That would give her enough time to walk to the station. Pausing at a sudden thought, the young woman went over to the microwave. On top of it was a bright green cannister. She pried open the lid and sniffed the dried tea leaves that Mrs Cullen had given her and grinned wickedly.
1/25/2014
9/24-9/26/1977
I.
Just as it was getting dark, Jeremy Bane found a parking spot on a residential street in uptown Silent Creek. It had been a cool, drizzly day with a good breeze, exactly his kind of weather. The young Dire Wolf got out of the rented Buick Regal and locked the door carefully. The past twelve hours had contained a lot of new experiences for the twenty-year-old. Arriving here from New York on a commercial flight, renting a car at the airport, driving into an unfamiliar city with just a few maps to guide him. Bane was born and bred in Manhattan and knew every block of that city, but here he was a bit ill at ease.
The Dire Wolf was wearing his usual outfit of all black- slacks, long-sleeved turtleneck and sport jacket. He was just over six feet tall, lean and muscular with the body of a runner. Even at a time when long blow-dried hair was the style, his black hair was short. Beneath heavy brows, cold grey eyes glared out, angry at the world. Bane surveyed the area as if he expected to be ambushed at any second. A life like his had left him permanently suspicious.
II.
The sign at the end of the block said said NEWELL STREET. He walked quickly along it, checking the numbers 714, 716... he spun on his heel and went back the other way. Crossing at the corner, he found 689 Newell Street. It was a three story stone building that looked very old. The windows had green wooden shutters. On the front of the building was a wide window with DOMINIQUE'S - ITALIAN in white italic script. Bane went to the side of the building and found a narrow wooden door at the top of two cement steps. A wrought iron bar protruded with a small sign WBAY FM RADIO. The grey eyes narrowed and the faintest hint of a smile appeared on the feral face.
The door was unlocked. Bane went up steep creaky wooden steps to the landing, where a bench sat under a window. There was a door with a frosted glass panel WBAY THE VOICE OF THE GREAT NORTHWEST. This was going smoothly so far, he thought. Before reaching for the door, the young man did something curious. Reaching up his sleeves, he adjusted the hilts of two silver daggers strapped to his forearms. Only then did he turn the knob and walk in.
This was a good-sized reception room with a couch, some comfortable chairs and a table holding magazines. On the wall was a mural of a coyote howling at the moon and WBAY THE VOICE OF THE GREAT NORTHWEST in the same lettering. A young woman sat behind a desk, behind her was a door marked private. On the wall opposite where he was entering was another, unmarked door with a water cooler beside it. Bane closed the door behind him.
"Good afternoon, can I help you?" She was maybe thirty, a busty beauty in a blue dress with a teased helmet of golden hair. Bane recognized she was attractive and men would find her sexy in a blunt way, but it had no effect on him. He was repressed without even realizing it and didn't react to her at all.
"I'm here representing Kenneth Dred. He talked to the station manager the other day." Even as he spoke, Bane's gaze swept the reception room warily. Nothing seemed unusual.
"Oh yes. I remember. Mr Cullen said to let you right in." She stood up and offered a manicured hand. "I'm Gwen McInerey, just the humble receptionist I'm afraid." Bane shook her hand politely and said, "Jeremy Bane. Do I go through that door there? Thank you."
As he went through the door, the receptionist gave him a puzzled look. Men usually fell all over her and a young guy like this should have flirted a bit. Maybe he was just preoccupied. She went back to signing papers, but with a frown on her full lips.
Bane entered a comfortable office that was warm and dry and smelled of cigars. There was a mounted fish on the wall, shelves of books and a sideboard with bottles of whiskey and shot glasses. Behind the huge desk piled with debris sat a heavyset middle-aged man with a dark brown suit on, but the tie was loosened and the top button open. A soft face under receding grey hair glanced up at him.
"My name's Bane, Mr Cullen. I'm here representing Kenneth Dred." Despite his efforts, there was no warmth in his voice, it was all Bane could do to be civil. "He sent me to discuss his offer."
"Eh? Oh yes, of course. Kenneth Dred, of course. Please have a seat." As the Dire Wolf lowered himself to a red leatherbound chair, Cullen said, "You seem rather young for such responsibility. This would be a large financial undertaking."
"I'm just a messenger," Bane answered. "What do you need to know?"
Gordon J Cullen tapped a pen on his desk. "Hum. Well. I'm curious how Dred even knows about us. We're a small station in Idaho, he's back in New York City. Our signal doesn't reach three thousand miles."
"Mr Dred has friends out here," Bane answered, following the story they had rehearsed. "They called him. Your station is getting popular. He told me your programming has appealed to a wide range. Especially your overnight disc jockey, Dee Nile."
Cullen smiled fondly. "Oh, yes yes. Our Dee has quite a following. So Kenneth Dred wants to pay for a new transmitter that will cover twice the current broadcast area."
"And in return, he will get a small percentage of your increased profits. Mr Dred has a lot of deals like this going on." Bane hoped he sounded convincing. All this posing was new to him and he was blunt by nature.
"I see. Well." Cullen seemed distracted to the point of being beffudled. Bane wondered if he was always like this. "I will have to discuss it with Mam- I mean, the station owner. But I believe it will seem like a good idea. Are you going to be in the area for a day or so?"
"Yes. I'll be staying at a motel just outside of town. I'll call here with the number of my room so you can reach me." As Cullen stood up, Bane did the same. The manager of WBAY smiled and showed him to the door. "I hope to have an answer early tonight as soon as I talk to her. How late may I call you?"
"Middle of the night if necessary," Bane said. Pausing at the door, he glanced back. "I'd like to look around the station to tell Mr Dred what he's investing in. That all right?"
"Oh. Certainly, certainly. Gwen will introduce you. We have a small staff." Cullen sat down, still smiling warmly and watched Bane let himself out. Out in the reception room, the Dire Wolf stepped up to the gorgeous blonde at her desk. "Your boss wants you to show me around a little."
"My pleasure," she beamed, getting up and smoothing down her snug dress, still getting no reaction from this strange young man. "Please." She led him through the unmarked door into a narrow hallway. To their right was a storeroom with an open door showing a mop in a bucket. Opposite that was a bathroom. Two more doors were located further down the hall, both wide open, and at the end of the hall was a huge glass window leading into the main studio.
Gwen McInery stuck her golden head inside the first door. "Chad? This is Mr Bane, he's here about the new transmitter. A slim man in his early thirties rose from behind a cluttered desk in a tiny office. He had blow-dried light brown hair and wore very tight jeans and a tan shirt unbuttoned halfway down. "Hi!" he said and offered a hand. "Chad Alger, I'm program director. Hope the deal goes through. We could use some new listeners."
"We'll hope for the best," Bane said as Gwen ushered him out. They went into a much larger, brightly lit room which held three desks, a counter with a coffee pot and open box of donuts, and bulletin boards on every wall. There was a UPI teletype in one corner. As they entered, a thin old man sprang up out of his chair as if he were alarmed. He wore a yellow bow tie on a blue shirt and slacks, and his metal-rimmed glasses had thick lenses that left his eyes unreadable.
As Bane was introduced, the nervous man grinned uneasily. "Really? Kenneth Dred is interested in us? I've read of him. You know he's one of the richest men in America, don't you? Yet he writes those books about ghosts and werewolves, quite extraordinary." He stopped himself and held out his hand, which Bane shook. "Junior Perlman, news director. I work the streets of this town."
"Good to meet you," the Dire Wolf said as the blonde tugged him from the room. "Our sales manager isn't here right now. Dee comes in at eleven. That just leaves our day DJ, Captain Trips."
Standing in the hall outside the studio, Bane looked in at a room lined with electronic equipment and shelves of cassettes and LP albums. Working a turntable and speaking into a boom mike at face level was a tired-looking man in his fifties, with a beer belly pushing out his T-shirt and a week's growth of beard under a bristly mustache. The man wore tinted glasses. As Bane watched, Gwen turned a dial on a mounted speaker next to them and the man's mellow voice flowed out.
"...no disco, remember folks, you are spared the horrors of disco here, we play good old Rock and Roll the way God intended, right now for example, let's kick back and enjoy some Aerosmith doing "Dream ON," crank it up, make your car windows rattle..."
Bane frowned. "You have only two DJs?"
"Right now," she admitted. "We play pre-recorded talk shows and we have a two hour concert at 8 called 'Live From Silent Creek.' But Cap does work long hours. Our engineer Rickie works out at the transmitter, we communicate with him over the phone."
The Dire Wolf glanced around the hallway. "Is there anything else I should report to Mr Dred about?"
"I suppose you will want to meet Dee," the blonde sniffed. "She's quite the local celebrity. Dee comes in around eleven-thirty, she's on the air from midnight to five. If you want to come back then, just buzz and she'll let you in. She's not very security conscious."
Bane was as serious as ever as he met her gaze. "Maybe I will come back. Mr Dred was curious about her show. Thank you." He turned and walked out without any further pleasantries. Gwen pouted at his lack of appreciation for her, not to mention his lack of manners but she watched him go with interest. There was some intense energy in him, some wolfish spirit, that she found very attractive.
Back on the street, Bane started back toward his rented car. He had met four people at the station so far, that just left the salesman and Dee Nile herself. And the owner, of course. The question was, which of them was behind the murders?
II.
Heading out of town, he pulled into a Howard Johnson's he had spotted on his way in. It would do as well as any other motel and was only ten minutes from the radio station. Bane got his knapsack from the back seat and surveyed the parking lot for a minute before entering the lobby. He checked in and rented a room for the next two days. The only one on the ground floor that was available was on the other end of the building but that was fine with him. Bane headed down the long hallway, past the laundry room and the little nooks which held Coke machines and ice dispensers. He looked up and down the hall before unlocking his door and slipping quickly in.
Bane's constant surveillance of his surroundings might seem odd to someone who casually observed it. But the Dire Wolf had survived many serious attacks on his life already and he intended to continue to survive. He examined the room quickly, inspecting everything the way someone buying a used car might. He made sure the window was locked, pulled the chain on the door and relaxed a little. Going over to the short couch in front of the TV, he thought for a few moments before calling long distance. Back in New York City, Kenneth Dred answered instantly. The subdued, friendly voice was one of the few that Bane trusted and was glad to hear.
As Dred listened without interruption, Bane reported in as much detail as he could manage. He was learning to be able to repeat conversations word for word. "And here I am in Room 117 of the Howard Johnsons on Rte 34. That's the situation."
"Very good, Jeremy," said Dred's voice. "You intend to go back and meet Dee Nile tonight?"
"Yeah. Everyone there seems to have mixed feelings about her. Any further instructions?"
"Not at this time. Let's summarize. Three months ago, this station started featuring a young woman overnight, playing some modern jazz. She called herself Dee Nile. As a running joke, she mentioned she would welcome donations to her college fund but couldn't promise any favors in return. Money started pouring in, often just cash in envelopes with no return address. The number of her listeners increased. Two weeks ago, she made a personal appearance at a local bistro to sign autographs and traffic was stopped by the size of the crowd."
Dred paused and Bane broke in impatiently. "But the two deaths! They took place before that, right?"
"Yes," Dred continued. "One month ago, a local businessman named Lionel Swarthout attempted to buy the radio station. He wanted to change the format to religious programming. The station had not been making a profit and the owner was said to be considering it. Swarthout shot himself in the head with a newly purchased handgun, leaving no note and no motivation. Police got nowhere figuring it out."
Bane stood up. His enhanced metabolism made him constantly jumpy and restless. He began pacing as far as he could while still holding the phone. "Then there was the second funny death, right?"
"Yes. That was the one that caught my attention. A woman named Christine Misner wrote two letters to the local newspaper complaining that Dee Nile was a corrupting influence on the community. Some undefined moral offenses were mentioned. Soon after that, Mrs Misner was found drowned in a creek not far from her house. What struck me was a report that the night before the death, Dee Nile had mentioned Christine Misner on the air and said, quote 'old snoops like her should go soak their heads.'"
Bane snorted but caught himself. "Sorry, sir. That caught me by surprise. It sounds as if there may be something weird going on."
"Very much so," came Dred's voice. "I spoke with the editor of the newspaper. He told me that there was a third letter which they did not publish. In it, Mrs Misner accussed Dee Nile of witchcraft."
"Oh, that's getting interesting," Bane said. "Now I see how this might be in our area."
"I don't have to tell you to be careful, Jeremy. I know you always are. Those silver daggers will protect you against many things, including hexes and spells. They protected me for decades. But nothing is perfect. Be on your guard."
"I will, sir," said the young Dire Wolf. "Don't worry. I'll report as soon as I get anywhere."
"Did you eat? You left the house late yesterday. Did you stop for a meal yet?"
"Not yet. I will get something now, though. Dee Nile won't be at the studio for a few hours yet. I will call you. Goodbye."
"Take care, son," came the voice before a click ended the conversation.
Bane hung up the phone and looked down at it. It made him feel oddly pleased that Dred had asked him if he had eaten. No one had really cared about his welfare before. Growing up a nameless orphan on the streets, Bane had been taken in by a few shady 'guardians' who used him to steal and beg for them. At eleven, he had been big enough to strike out on his own. This had been when his puberty growth spurt had somehow triggered abnormal reflexes. Even at eleven, Bane had been so quick and agile he could fight full-grown men. Living by theft was easy for him then. He had kept to himself without joining a gang, moving constantly around the city without a friend. He touched no one and no one touched him.
Then a few months ago, he had met Kenneth Dred. The dry, soft-spoken old man had somehow learned about Bane and hired him as a field agent to investigate some bizarre crimes. The money offered was good and Bane was afraid of nothing that lived, so he had agreed. The two had gotten along and Bane had even been invited to move into Dred's home on 38th Street as a bodyguard and assistant.
That had come after the long night he had come near death. When he was almost killed by a beast he thought could not exist, and when Dred sat with the wounded young man until he woke up from a fever, understanding the real horrors that threatened the human race. When he became the Dire Wolf in fact as well as name....
Bane shook himself in annoyance. There was work to do. He left the room, checking that the door was locked behind him and hurried down the long hallway to the restaurant at the front of the building.
III.
After plowing through a platter of fish and chips, tomato soup and apple pie, Bane calmed down a little. His metabolism meant he was always starving. Finishing a second glass of apple juice, he glanced at his watch. Only nine. He ordered a mixed sub to go and took it with him back to his room. Stopping in the lobby, the Dire Wolf paused to buy two local newspapers. Once settled back in, he devoured the sub and could easily have eaten a second one. He never put on weight, his body burned calories at a furious rate.
Bane studied the newspapers intently. It was a strange eccentricity that he never watched TV or movies or even listened to music but he was obsessed with newspapers. He himself just accepted the preference and never thought about it. Even the want ads fascinated him, although he had never been in Idaho before and would likely never come back again.
Finishing up, he stripped down to shorts and T-shirt and did push-ups, some on one arm and some on fingertips. He stretched and shadow-boxed, checking out his readiness. He felt good, ready for anything. Bane took a shower and got dressed, putting on a fresh blackturtleneck from his knapsack. Strapped to his forearms, hilts forward, were the two silver daggers given to him by Kenneth Dred. He made sure he could draw them if needed. In just two two months, they had already saved his life three times and he had no intention of ever going anywhere without them. The more he learned of the Midnight War, the more he was determined to thrive in it.
From his knapsack, he took a detachable holster and threaded it through his belt just behind his left hip (he was left-handed). Bane examined the .38 Colt with care before holstering it. Sometimes he used a .45 automatic but he was more comfortable with the revolver and found it more accurate. The Dire Wolf shrugged into his black sport jacket and glanced around the room once more before heading out.
In the rented car, he returned to the same spot where he had parked a few hours earlier. There was a pick-up truck there. He had to go another block to find an opening. At just after eleven, he circled around to come up on the building at 689 Newell Street where WBAY was. Two blocks away, he faded into the doorway of a shoe store to watch. His night vision kicked in, he could not explain this to anyway but he was nocturnal to an abnormal degree. It was not raining at the moment but the air was misty.
At twenty after eleven, he watched as a white Chevy van slowed in front of the building. A young woman with light brown hair, wearing a raincoat, got out of the passenger side and waved cheerfully as the van pulled away. Dee Nile, he supposed. It was odd that someone who supposedly had such a devoted following didn't have any fans waiting to pester her where she was known to work. Bane waited a few more minutes, then walked around the area looking for anything suspicious. Like himself, he thought wryly. No one sitting in a car, no faces peering out of windows.
He headed for the building. The Italian restaurant was dark. Bane found the side door open and trotted silently up the steps. At the landing, he listened but heard nothing. There was a white buzzer at the door that said WBAY and he pressed it twice. After a minute, the door opened inward and a grizzled mustached face peered out at him. Captain Trips.
"You're not the pizza," he said with obvious disappointment.
"No," said Bane. He walked in past the DJ as if he had been invited in and Trips stepped aside obligingly.
"Mind telling me why you're here? Not for MY autograph, certainly."
The Dire Wolf turned his pale eyes on Trips, who flinched a bit at the stare. "But then, I could ask why are you here this late?" Bane asked.
"Aw, I lost my apartment. Something about being behind on the rent," muttered the DJ. "So the big fella says I can sleep here for a week or so. The couch in the reception room is more comfortable than my bed was, anyway."
Bane nodded. "Maybe Mr Cullen mentioned me. My name is Bane."
"Yeah. You work for some gentleman back East who wants to invest in a new tower. Sounds good. You know it's after eleven, right?"
"I'm supposed to meet Dee Nile before I go back," Bane said.
"That figures. Come on. I gotta warn you, though, she's not gonna go out with you." He led the Dire Wolf through the reception room, where the couch had a pillow and a rumpled blanket on it, through the inner door and down the hall. Through the wide window, they could look inside Studio A where Dee Nile was on the air.
IV.
Maybe twenty-three at the most, Dee Nile was tall and slim, with long glossy beown hair that reached her shoulder blades. Seated at the console, she was wearing a blue cardigan over a white blouse and the edge of a pleated skirt could be seen. The young woman was speaking into the microphone and Bane reached over to turn up the speaker mounted on the wall next to him.
"...again, the girlfriend you never knew you had. That's me, Dee Nile, coming to you on this dark rainy night with some laid-back sounds to calm your soul. Here's a favorite from a few years ago, I remember kissing a boy in the dark while this played, it's 'Masquerade' by George Benson..." Bane turned the speaker off as the music started. He didn't hear anything special about her voice. It was pleasant and friendly, but nothing extraordinary. He went over and opened the door to the studio despite the lit sign that said ON AIR - NO ADMITTANCE. Nile clicked off her mike and gave him a slight smile, "Something I can help you with? Hey, Captain, you let him in?"
The morning DJ shrugged and went back down the hall toward the reception room. Bane watched him go, and then turned back to her. Dee Nile had a pale oval face with full lips and a straight, slightly pointed nose. Her eyes were hazel and quizzical.
"I guess we have a few minutes before you have to start talking again," Bane said. "I'm here on business. I'm working for a man who wants to invest in this station."
"Ohhhhh," she said with relief. "Right. Captain Tripd told me a little, some guy Kenneth Dred back in New York. You were here earlier today. Great, What do you want with me?"
"You seem to be a big part of this station's popularity," he began.
"Hold that thought," she said and cut in her microphone again. "You're listening to WBAY from Silent Creek, the Voice of the Great Northwest and of course I'm Dee Nile, the girlriend you never knew you had. We have news and weather coming up in just a few minutes, but first, let's enjoy some Jean-Luc Ponty, this one is a favorite." As the music came back up, she smiled at the Dire Wolf. "Well, now you've seen me. Anything else?"
He decided to start the investigation. "We do want to know a little about the tragic deaths this past month."
"Oh, so THAT'S it!" she blew up. "No way. I'm tired of being questioned and harassed. You need to go away." Suddenly her voice had a faint echo to it. "Get Lost."
Jeremy Bane turned around and left the studio without a word. He went down the hall, past the sleeping DJ on the couch in the reception room and back down the stairs. Once outside, he started walking. At each corner, he turned left or right at random. Bane's face was blank, as if he were daydreaming. After twenty minutes, he came across a railroad track and he followed that for a few miles before heading into a wooded area.
A full hour after he had met Dee Nile, Bane gave a shudder and looked around him. For the longest time, he stood motionless. How had he gotten out here? Where the hell was he, out in a forest somewhere in the middle of the night? He didn't seem injured. He felt fine. But what was going on?
In the near distance, a train rumbled by. He remembered something about railroad tracks recently and he started heading for the sound. He got there just as the last car rolled past. Bane studied the terrain and decided he should go left along the tracks to get back where he had come from. He wasn't certain about it, it was just a hunch. As he walked along, Bane checked his watch. One-fifteen. Now he remembered what he could not recall a few seconds earlier. He had met Dee Nile and she had told him to get lost.
IV.
It was close to three before Bane spotted an area of town he recognized in the gloom. Soon after that, he was walking up to the rented car and he looked across the street at the stone building that housed the WBAY station. Dee Nile was in there, talking into the mike, sending her voice out into the night. Should he go back in and confront her? He didn't think so. What would he say? He realized that if she were annoyed at seeing him, she might well tell him to go jump off a bridge. And he would do it.
No. It annoyed him to turn away but he needed a plan. Bane started up the car and drove back to the Holiday Inn. He went in through a side door near his room, kicked off his boots and hung his jacket over a chair. Anger made him pace back and forth. Finally, he took the holstered revolver off his belt and slipped it under his pillow. He was still deciding what to do. Bane finally checked that the bolt was on the door, turned off the light and stretched out on the bed fully dressed. He fell asleep debating his next move.
At just after nine, he jolted awake and sat up. Sunlight was coming in through the curtains. Bane didn't spend time yawning or smacking his lips, his body came up to full awareness instantly. Getting out of bed, realizing he was still dressed from the night before, he reached for the phone just as it rang. "Hello?"
"Hi, hi there, is this Mr Bane? This is Gordon Cullen from WBAY."
"Yeah. Morning. What's going on?" Bane said too bluntly for a business representative.
"oh, well, I spoke with Mama last night, that's Mrs Cullen, she's the owner of the station. She's very interested and wants you to go out to the house this afternoon. Say around four?"
"Fine," answered Bane. "I just need the address."
"Of course. Our house is just outside town on Rte 34. Past the community college. It's up on a hill, there's a sign that says CULLEN. I'll tell her you're going to be there."
"Thanks," Bane said. "I might stop by the station to get some details this afternoon."
"No problem. I'll be in my office, young fella. Bye."
As the man hung up, Bane began turning the cast of suspects over in his head. Dee Nile obviously had some strange power of making people follow what she said out loud. But she didn't seem aware of it. She could have told Bane to explain who he was and why he was investigating, but she had just blurted out a common phrase without thinking. Strange. Did that mean someone was behind her? Possibly someone with black magick?
In just over two months with Kenneth Dred, Bane had witnessed some a lot of inexplicable phenomena. He had taken the sensible attitude to deal with the bizarre events as they happened and worry later if they were possible. The idea that someone was using a spell to give Dee Nile a sort of witchcraft voice was not as crazy as some of the things he had seen recently. Picking up the phone again, he dialed the number of the house on East 38th Street back in NYc.
Kenneth Dred picked up immediately. "Hello?" said the familiar voice.
"It's me, sir. Have I got something to report..." The more he recapped events, the better he got at spotting details and remembering conversations in the first place. Working for Dred was making him a better observer. Dred's suggestion that someday Bane might become a licensed Private Investigator did not seem as far-fetched.
When Bane was done, Dred asked a few questions, then said, "Remarkable. I haven't actually encountered this phenomenon before. I've heard of it. My friend Mark Drum fought someone called Harvey Gough back in the 1950s. The Voice of Doom, he called it. A Darthan potion gave him the power."
"Yeah? How did he handle the problem?"
"It was typical of Drum," said Kenneth Dred. "He slipped a chemical irritant into Gough's potion and the man burned his throat and escophagus so he couldn't speak. I don't think you will be able to do that, Jeremy."
"No," Bane admitted. "I'm not tricky. I'm meant to attack straight on. And I can't just slug this girl in the studio, the cops would lock me up and what could I say?"
"Jeremy, I suggest you watch the people around this young woman. One of them is supplying her with a Darthan potion, probably without her knowing it. One of them knows forbidden magicks and is the real menace here."
Bane was scowling. "How about stuffing cotton in my ears? Or those foam rubber earplugs?"
"They didn't work for Mark Drum," said the voice of his mentor. "Perhaps you should best avoid this Dee Nile for the moment. Go meet with Mrs Cullen this evening. Look for clues. I would be cautious, though."
"I understand. Thanks for everything, Mr Dred. I'll report as soon as something pops."
"Good luck, son. Goodbye," and Dred hung up on the other end.
Jeremy Bane hung up the phone. If anyone else had called him "son," he would be furious. But Kenneth Dred had the right. The young Dire Wolf decided he needed to take another look at the radio station. He stripped down and took a hot shower, shaving while he was in there. As he toweled off, Bane was revealed as a startling sight, gaunt but muscular with almost zero body fat. As soon as he was dry, he strapped the silver daggers back on again. He quickly got into plain cotton socks, underwear, a black T-shirt. Over them went his black slacks and the same long-sleeved black turtleneck he had been wearing the night before.
Bane threaded on the belt with the holstered .38 revolver behind his left hip. The sport jacket hid that. In its pockets he had started carrying a few specialized items he was starting to need. A leather case held a lockpick set, and although he wasn't good at opening locks yet, he kept practicing. A small plastic box held adhesive bandages, antiseptic cream and burn lotion. The checkbook for Dred's account went in the right front pocket, which buttoned.
In his pants pockets went the usual wallet, car keys, handkerchief that most men carried. He brought two cigarette lighters. He didn't smoke but he thought there might come a time when he needed a fire for a distraction. Bane inspected himself in the mirror briefly. The pale grey eyes jumped out at him. He thought maybe sunglasses would be a good idea, those distinctive eyes made it too easy to identify him.
Before he left, the Dire Wolf stopped at the Howard Johnson's restaurant section and ate a double serving of French toast, bacon and scrambled eggs. He was always hungry. Then he went out and started up the rental car. As he headed up O'Neil Street, he spotted a drugstore and pulled over suddenly at an unexpected idea. He came out with a small bag and pleased expression on his face. Now he felt more confident about the situation.
Up by Newell Street, he found a convenient spot. There were no parking meters in this mostly residential area. Bane locked the car and walked up the stairs to the landing again, feeling a creepy chill at the thought he had left here the night before in a brainwashed state. He patted what he had put inside his inside breast pocket for reassurance. The Dire wolf buzzed and was let in.
Gwen McInery greeted him with a brilliant smile. She was wearing a dark skirt and jacket, open to reveal an impressive bust ledge in a white blouse with a scoop neckline. It was wasted on Bane, who said, "Hello. Mr Dred wants me to watch the station a little more."
"Really? Well, I'm sure that will be no problem. What would you like to do?"
"Just talk to the staff. If this station gets busier, some expansion would be needed. Perhaps a live crew for covering concerts." Bane was making this up and he felt pleased at the improvisation.
"Really?" she repeated, standing up straight to throw her shoulders back just a bit. "Perhaps you would like to speak with Junior. He just finished the local news and he'll be in the staff room."
As they went through the door and down the hall, Bane said, "What's his real name?"
"Oh, it's Henry Perlman. His father's name was Bernard. He's not really a Junior, that's just what everyone calls him."
Bane spent a half-hour with the excitable little man. He quickly discovered that Junior had an exaggerated sense of his own importance and was sure a Pulitzer Prize in Journalism was in his future. Mostly, he wanted to talk about the books Kenneth Dred had written.
"My favorite has to be BEHIND THE CURTAINS OF THE COMMONPLACE. It influenced me greatly. I've always know the supernatural is all around us, hidden in plain sight. How exciting it must be to work for a great man like Mr Dred. If I get out to the East Coast, do you think I could meet him?"
"I'll ask him," Bane said. "Tell me, Junior. Have you ever found evidence of the supernatural out here? Strange animals, bizarre murders?"
"Absolutely!" the small man peered back and forth at the empty room where they sat by his desk. "Witches. I am convinced there is a coven in this area. In my apartment, I have my notes hidden carefully but when I have more conclusive proof, I'm going to expose them."
"I see. That could be dangerous, you know. I'd wait until I was out of this area before exposing them. Just to be safe." There was no mockery in Bane's voice. He had already met Red Sect.
"Very prudent. Thank you. I don't know if you've heard about the woman who drowned in Silent Creek?"
"Yes. I was told that happened right after your own DJ recommended the woman soak her head. Kind of ironic."
"Oh, it's more than ironic, Mr Bane. I have a theory about Dee Nile.." He broke off as Captain Trips entered the room and headed for the coffee pot. Bane stood up and went over to join the man.
The daytime DJ was wearing a black T-shirt that said KISS WORLD TOUR on the front, faded jeans and sneakers that had seen better days. He still had not shaved, he still had sunglasses on inside. As he spotted Bane, he said, "Hey. You sure left quick last night."
"She told me to get lost," Bane said honestly. "If you're in here, who's on the air?"
"Oh, we're playing a prerecorded talk show. 'Medical Answers,' we buy it and can play it twice. It gives me time for a nap. I'm here twelve hours most days." Captain Trips glanced over at the newsman and smiled. "Has Junior been telling you about the local witches?"
Bane said, "How do you feel about that?"
The DJ put down his mug for a refill and fumbled with the milk. "I wouldn't laugh it off, my friend. I'll tell you the truth, strange things have been going on here for years now. Things we're warned not to discuss on the air. Two girls disappeared from the community college and were hardly mentioned in the papers. People have seen things they only talk about if you meet them outside town. No sir, it's no joke."
"It's no joke to me," said the Dire Wolf. "I want to learn more."
"Hang around this place, you'll learn more than you really want to... oh hell, I've said too much. Me for my nap. Roust me in forty minutes, Junior."
"Sure, Steve." Junior evidently used the DJ's real name. To Bane, he continued, "This city is in a grip of fear we dare not even talk about. But you... there's something about you. You're different."
Bane turned those pale eyes on the newsman. "Maybe I can clean things up a bit."
"I think you can do just that. You seem tough. Even dangerous. Listen, when you go see Mama Cullen tonight, don't drink anything.." Again he broke off as this time a short man in a loud salmon-colored polyester leisure suit with a pink shirt rushed in. His hair was teased to the point it looked as if he had it permed.
"Good news, Junior!" the man boomed. "Old man Schonger agreed to run some commercials for the next week. His lumber yard needs the business and we need the money! I want you to record the voiceover as soon as I-" The man's bombastic voice trailed off. "Oh, hey there."
"My name's Bane, I represent a man who wants to build a new transmitter for this station."
"Heard about that! Great news," he shoved out his hand, and Bane reflected he had never shaken so many hands within a twenty-four hour period. "Name's Simpkins, Joe John Simpkins. I'm the man you talk to about advertising. Got to go, lots to do, always busy." He turned and bustled out again.
"Will there be anything else, Mr Bane?" asked Junior apologetically. "I have to check the teletype and get ready for the 1:00 updates."
"No," the Dire Wolf said. "You've been a big help. I'll be around." He left the staff room, said goodbye to the receptionist and let himself out. Behind her desk, Gwen McInery took out her compact and inspected her image. Maybe there was something wrong with that boy, she looked just fine.
V.
Back in the rental car, Bane eased out into traffic. He had a lot to digest from that short discussion in the studio. As he went through uptown, he saw a phone booth on a corner and pulled over. On the back seat was a tobacco pouch full of change. The Dire Wolf stepped into the glass booth, pulled the door shut behind him and the light went on. He dialed New York and added coins until the coin went through. A second later, Kenneth Dred answered, "Yes?"
"Me again, sir. I had an interesting talk with some of the staff," and he repeated the conversations as closely as he could. Dred listened and said it was a suggestive development.
"I have done some research here, Jeremy. Listen closely. Mrs Greta Cullen, aged sixty-eight, is the owner of WBAY and the part-publisher of the local newspaper NORTHWEST JOURNAL. Her son Gordon is managed of the radio station. Until his death, her husband ran the newspaper. So Mrs Cullen controls to a large extent what news gets out of that city."
Bane grunted. "That sounds dangerous."
"It is. The two recent deaths were barely covered and the outside world hardly heard about them. Silent Creek is close to being silent altogether. I've also learned that as a young woman, she was seen in the company of Clinton Lundborg."
"Red Sect! Them again. I get you, Mr Dred. I'll straighten these warlocks out. Anything else?"
"No, Jeremy. I just hope the knowledge will be a help."
"Thank you, sir," Bane said as the phone clicked off on the other end. He left the phone booth and get back in his car. On his way to Rte 34, he stopped to fill the tank. From the start, he had developed a habit of getting cars fuelled up, with the tires and fluids checked frequently. One bad chase on a winter night with a car that stalled had given him this habit. Heading out of town, he kept coming up with plans on how to handle the situation without ending up in jail or even on Death Row.
As he past a low stone gateway with a wooden sign HELSINGER COUNTY COMMUNITY COLLEGE, he knew he was going the right way. The bank to his left sloped down toward Silent Creek, which was running pretty quick and which looked more like a river to him. The water was dark and cold. Up ahead, a hill rose overlooking Silent Creek and atop it sat a very neat three-story house that might qualify as a mansion. There was a stone patio, a detached garage big enough for two cars and a neat hedges encircling the building. Bane checked his watch. He was on time.
Pulling up the driveway, he found himself parking next to a gleaming black Lincoln. The cars sat on a paved area that looked down the steep hill to Silent Creek itself. Was that where the Misner woman had drowned herself? Bane got out of the car and, as he closed the door, the young program director from WBAY stepped out of the other car. He was wearing a winter coat with a fur collar. "Hello, Mr Bane."
"Chad. I was expected."
"Of course," said Chad Alger with a smile that looked entirely forced. "Mama Cullen will be out in a second. Oh, here she is. Good evening, ma'am."
"Did you get my vehicle serviced?" asked a brittle voice. Mrs Greta Cullen looked older than her years, even frail. She was thin and leaned on a wooden cane with a curved handle. The expensive tailored clothes, the carefully tended hair and nails, the lipstick.. none of it made her look young and healthy. Beneath a shag of platinum hair, sharp blue eyes peered out at her visitor.
Standing beside Mrs Cullen, helping to support her with one arm, was Dee Nile.
VI.
Bane had not expected that. The young woman was wrapped in her beige raincoat, with a red scarf around her throat. She was really quite pretty but the disdain in her eyes worked against that. Standing next to her boss, Nile gave Bane a cold stare and said nothing.
"Good evening," Bane began, but the old woman cut him off.
"Don't waste your time. I know why you're here. We of Red Sect know the name of Kenneth Dred all too well. You yourself are on our enemies list after what you do to our coven in Manhattan. The Dire Wolf....! Bah. You will not live long enough to make a name for yourself."
Bane was not entirely surprised. He had seen the hatred in her eyes as she approached and the fact she had known the founder of Red Sect just confirmed his suspicions. She was the witch. She was the one brewing the Velkandu potion that gave Dee Nile that strange power.
"Well, then, I guess there is no point in dragging this out," he said, moving toward her.
Mrs Cullen turned to glare at Dee Nile. "Tell him. Tell him to dive into Silent Creek. In this cold, he'll freeze within minutes."
The young woman seemed confused. "But.. that's crazy. Why would I say that?"
"Do as I say or you'll be looking for a new job!"
Dee Nile turned her hazel eyes on Bane and took a breath. Before she could speak, his hand darted into his inner breast pocket and came up with a pair of headphones which he clamped tightly over his ears. In his pocket was an AM/FM radio set between stations and turned up. All he heard was furious static. He saw Dee Nile's lips move but he heard nothing.
"You tricky little..." said Alger. "You'll be just another missing person." He leaped toward Bane, hands clutching, and met by a single sharp left cross that spun him completely around. He was still barely standing and a backfist by Bane with the same hand lifted him off his feet and onto his back with a thud. The Dire Wolf saw that both Mrs Cullen and Dee Nile were talking but all he could hear was static from his Walkman.
Time to end this, he thought. He bent over the snoring Chad Alger and dragged the man over to the Lincoln and dumped him in the passenger seat. Fishing the car keys from the man's pocket, then handed them to Mrs Cullen. The old woman snatched them angrily, not sure what to do. As both of them stared, Bane drew his .38, thumbed off the safety and pointed the barrel four inches away from the younger woman's face.
Dee Nile went white. Her eyes bulged out comically. Having a loaded gun in her face was something she had never expected to experience and her heart was pounding furiously. Both women froze.
Even though he could barely hear himself, Bane shouted, "Listen. Tell her to get in her car and drive into the creek full speed. Tell her!" As Dee Nile hesitated, he thumbed back the hammer and the cylinder rotated so a bullet was ready in the chamber. The young woman was shaking. She yelled, "Do it. Get in your car and drive into Silent Creek. Do it now!"
And Greta Cullen obeyed. Stiffly, resisting every inch, she walked slowly to her car and got in. She gunned the motor and raced down the hill to splash into the turgid waters of Silent Creek. Dee Nile started to move but Bane held the gun on her and she froze. It didn't take long for the Lincoln to sink beneath the choppy waters with a few huge bubbles bursting on the surface.
"That's the only way the murders would stop," Bane said. He lowered the gun and closed the hammer carefully. "Look, don't speak. You saw what happens when you talk. Right?"
She nodded, still staring at him the way she would be watching a starving wolf at close range.
"Don't talk. Just nod or shake your head. I know that woman was giving something special to drink every day. Some special tea or juice or something, correct?"
She nodded vigorously and suddenly slumped as it seemed this madman was not going to kill her right away. He continued questioning her and it came out that Mrs Cullen required that Nile drink a special "imported ginseng tea" every morning and again in the afternoon. She had not had her cup yet that afternoon, he had interrupted them by showing up early.
"So the effect must wear off pretty quickly," he said. Bane turned down the static from his Walkman a little, it was giving him a headache. "Okay. You may not believe this. It doesn't really matter. But she was a witch and she was feeding you a potion that gave your voice a compelling power. When the potion kicks in, people are forced to obey your spoken orders. No, no, don't talk now. Just listen."
As he explained, it all sank in. Dee Nile started to cry at the understanding she had been used as a weapon. The deaths resulting from phrases she said over the air were convincing. When Bane explained he himself had wandered into the woods after she told him to get lost, her tears really poured.
Bane holstered his gun. He thought she would cooperate now. The young woman was staring at the river where nothing could be seen of Mrs Cullen or of Chad Alger. She turned to Bane in complete dissaray and he said, "They're both dead. It had to be done. They killed five people between them and they could never be arrested. They would keep using you as a living weapon, one perfect murder after another."
She seemed to understand and parted her lips but he clamped his hand over her mouth. "No. No talking yet. Let's get in my car. You'll be safe with me." Somehow she had come to trust Bane, maybe it was sinking in what he had saved her from. She meekly got into the passenger seat as he took the wheel.
On the way back to the town, Bane told that she had to stick to the following story. She had not been out to the Cullen house that day. She knew nothing about the tragic accident that sent the car into Silent Creek. It wasn't until she reported for her shift at the station that she had any idea there had been trouble.
Dee Nile was watching Bane with huge hazel eyes. Her tears had stopped. Before they reached town, he pulled over. "I don't look forward to doing this but we have to see if the effect has faded. It's been twelve hours since you drank that tea. Nod yes or no."
She confirmed it.
"Okay. Now listen. Stick to what I say. Tell me to do something pointless. Pat myself on top of the head. Tell me that but not another word more."
Dee Nile took a breath. "Pat.. pat yourself on top of your head."
Bane felt no inclination to do so. "Something else. Tell me to scream as loud as I can."
"Scream as loud as you can," she ordered.
When he felt no compulsion to obey, the Dire Wolf exhaled in relief. "Whew. I guess it's over. That was rough. Okay, Dee.. wait, what's your real name?"
"Dee IS my real name," she mumbled. "My last name is Witt."
"Okay, Dee. I'm going to return you to where you live. Can you go on the air tonight as if nothing has happened?"
"I think so. Yes. I'm sure I can." She wiped her face. "But what's going to happen?"
"The police will go to the Cullen house. Either because no one answers the phone or because the son goes there and can't find anyone. They may not think to search Silent Creek for a while. Having that Chad disappear at the same time will confuse the situation." He pulled up in front of a red brick apartment complex and slid into its parking lot. "You keep to your story and deny everything. They can't bring any evidence against you because there is none."
She was staring at him in horrified fascination. "You do this sort of thing often?"
"All the time," he answered. "If you do seem to be getting blamed, Mr Dred will send a very expensive lawyer from New York City to get you off the hook. All right?"
"I suppose." She opened her door and looked back at him. "I suppose I should thank you.. for freeing me, if that's what you did. I'm still not sure I believe any of this happened. I expect to wake up in bed and go, Gosh what a nightmare."
Bane said, "I'll meet you when you get off your shift. You can talk on the phone to Mr Dred, he's a lot smarter than I am. He can explain things better."
Without a further word, she got out of the car and rushed through the front door of her apartment building. As she glanced back, she saw Bane drive away. Dee felt exhausted as if she had been awake for days. She hurried to her tiny apartment and locked the front door behind her. She had to be delusional. None of that could have happened. Well, she would go to work in a few hours as if everything was normal and see what was going on.
She felt like she needed a nap desperately, so she set her alarm for eleven. That would give her enough time to walk to the station. Pausing at a sudden thought, the young woman went over to the microwave. On top of it was a bright green cannister. She pried open the lid and sniffed the dried tea leaves that Mrs Cullen had given her and grinned wickedly.
1/25/2014
