"Aspara Gus"
May. 20th, 2022 04:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Aspara Gus"
1/17/1997
I.
In the clear dry winter sunlight, Ashley Whitaker was a stunning sight getting out of the taxi. Dressed all in white from boots to snug jeans to waist-length down-filled jacket, with her pale skin and long platinum hair she looked almost like some snow elf. Just sixteen, just over five feet tall and just over one hundred pounds, Ashley was gorgeous to where she took it for granted and hardly thought about it. Her mind was occupied by the fact that she was freezing and hadn't remembered to bring her wool hat. At least she had her white leather gloves.
The taxi pulled away, leaving her in front of Bryant Park behind the Public Library. Ashley placed the three-foot long leather sheath across her back and buckled its strap diagonally across her chest. It still was immensely satisfying that her mother had come to trust her with the priceless talisman, the ensorcelled horn that had given them both the war name Unicorn. Ashley grinned and could barely keep from hugging herself with delight. Then she saw the derelict on the bench eyeing her with clearly bad intent.
That brought her down to earth with a jolt. Nasty old duck. The man was wrapped in a ragged brown trenchcoat that came down to his beat-up rubber galoshes. It was hard to tell what he looked like, with the explosion of dirty grey hair and matted brown beard reaching to his chest. The way he grinned at her with broken teeth was not reassuring, either. She felt a little heartburn from nausea.
But she had wanted to be the new Unicorn. She was going to have to deal with worse than this. Fastened horizontally to the small of her back was the 22 target pistol she had been practicing with the past year. It didn't have much stopping power but she was accurate with it and knowing it was under her jacket was reassuring. Ashley started heading toward the wretch.
"Excuse me," she sang out cheerfully. "What's your favorite vegetable?"
"Asparagus of course," he answered. "And, even though you can't be anyone else in that get-up, what's your favorite animal, sweetheart?"
"Unicorn. Of course. Okay, Gus, here I am. What's your offer?"
"We need to get inside somewhere," he grumbled. "There's ice in my beard."
"Yeah, it's cold," she said with no sympathy. "Come on, there's a McDonald's across the street. I want to get this over with." She jerked a thumb at him to get up.
Aspara Gus slowly pushed himself upright, swaying a bit. "Legs hurting bad today," he said. "Gimme a minute."
Unicorn had not learned patience yet, she folded her arms and tapped a foot as the old man stretched and started painfully to walk. "Come ON," she said.
"Wait till you're seventy, girlie. All right, I'm coming." He followed behind her as she crossed 42nd Street toward the McDonald's. Ashley glanced back and saw his eyes fixed on her little rear, but the withering glare she threw him was wasted. This was going to be a long day, she realized. Once they got inside the steamy fast food joint with its smell of coffee and grease and wet mops, she lowered her shoulders from where they had been desperately raise. At least it was warm in here.
Ashley unbent a little. "I'll pay for a meal. You sit down, Gus. What do you want?"
"Big Mac, I guess, fries. Coffee, black. Thanks, Unicorn." The ragged old man limped to a booth toward the back. He was bent and stiff, and she was beginning to feel a twinge of pity.
At the counter, Unicorn ordered what he asked for, then got herself a chicken sandwich and a diet soda. The boy behind the counter took her money and gave her back change, beaming at her shamelessly. Ashley gave him a smile as if it were a present and took the tray back to where Gus sprawled in the booth. He seemed preoccupied with scratching a spot on his left ribs but perked up at the smell of coffee.
"Ah, methanks to you, child. I ain't had java in too long." He began to dig in as if the food was trying to escape, grabbing the burger with both hands and wiping his greasy fingers on his trenchcoat.
As she took a dainty bite of her chicken sandwich, Unicorn realized she was getting used to the old beast. "My mother says you used to trust you. She says if anyone knows where the hammer is, you would."
Gus glanced up with a strip of lettuce hanging from his mouth. "Aye. The Silver Hammer. Better to leave it where it be, missy."
"That's not what she says," Ashley replied. She took another bite, chewed carefully and said, "She says if Flat-Top gets that thing, no one is safe."
II.
Without breaking stride, Bane stepped up to the weathered back door and drove the heel of his hand just above the lock. It was not just strength that snapped that lock and swung the door inward, it was the technique of bringing torque up from his legs and driving the whole of his body into the impact. He stepped into gloom and closed the door behind him. His night vision kicked in instantly and he could see well enough to make out the stairs to his left and the hallway stretching in front of him. On the wall was a row of a dozen narrow mailboxes. One of them must read the alias of the man he had come to capture.
Trotting lightly and silently up the stairs which should have creaked, the Dire Wolf wanted to get this over with. His old friend and colleague Mary Cassidy had called him early that morning to let him now her daughter was going to be in town later that day. She had asked Bane if he would help with her training and he had reluctantly agreed. The last time he had met the daughter, Ashley had been a precocious ten year old who had smuggled herself with him on a dangerous mission to Chyl. To his own surprise, Bane had rather gotten to like the child and had even agreed he would sponsor her for Tel Shai membership when she turned eighteen. He felt he was going to regret that promise now.
The second floor landing stank of urine and cabbage and tobacco. Bane scowled. He reached beneath the sleeves of his long black winter coat and adjusted the hilts of the matched silver daggers on his forearms to make sure they were accessible. The long-barreled Colt 38 had been shifted from its usual spot behind his hip to the side where it could be reached under the coat. Bane stalked noiselessly down the hall, where faint light got through grimy windows and stopped at a door that had 22 on it in tiny plastic numbers.
His grey eyes narrowed. Bane stepped up to the door and pressed his ear against, slowing his breath, altering his perception. This was a Tel Shai technique he had never fully mastered but he could enhance his hearing enough to help. A minute passed in which he stood frozen in place. He could hear the deep raspy breaths of someone in deep slumber. There was also the buzz of an appliance, probably an electric heater. The person was not near the door, he sounded to be in another room...
Loud Spanish music suddenly blared from a doorway further down the hall, breaking his focus and ruining Bane's concentration. He glared up at that door but then caught himself and realized he had learned enough anyway. The Dire Wolf assumed the door would be locked and he stepped into place, drew his elbow back three inches and struck his open hand above the doorknob to break the lock, jumping inside and closing the door behind him.
It was a filthy mess, a low-ceilinged room littered with crumpled newspapers and empty pizza boxes and whiskey bottles, with clothes scattered across the floor and a knee-high electric heater pointed toward a couch. Stretched out on that couch, wrapped tightly in blankets like a cocoon, was a middle-aged black man who stirred drowsily at the unexplained noise. His bloodshot eyes flickered and then widened as he saw the gaunt man in black who loomed up over him.
"Hey, Max. Long time no see," Bane said quietly. "No, don't budge. You're bundled up too much to even try to get away." The Dire Wolf stepped closer. "Max Welles, you haven't been in trouble for years now. I was hoping you'd stay straight."
"Hello, Jeremy," said the black man. His head was shaven but showed heavy five-clock shadow, and he had a thick mustache. As Bane watched, Max sat up just a little and glanced around the room to see if anyone else was there. "What would you want with me?"
"Not you. The guy you've been seen with."
"Flat-Top? I dunno where he is," Max lied unconvincingly. His eyes strayed involuntarily toward a lump that showed under a sweater tossed on the floor. Bane whipped out an arm and came back with a Glock that had been hidden there.
"Look, Max," the Dire Wolf said, "let's cut to the chase. I'm so tired of beating up henchmen to get information. You've seen me in action. You know I can smack you until you're too bruised to stand up, so why not skip all that?"
Surprisingly, the man thought it over and slowly nodded. He sat up and began to unwind the blankets. "Never stays warm in here. I swear there's a hole in the walls somewhere. Okay, Jeremy, you got a point. I know I can't fight you. I'll take you to Flat-Top."
"Take me? Why not just tell me?" Bane snapped.
Max Welles got up, a few inches taller than the Dire Wolf and much broader. He grinned maliciously down. "Because I want to see you tackle him. I'm seen him crack a man's spine over his knee. I figure you'll both take a pounding and I want to watch." And he laughed.
III.
Stepping back out on 42nd Street, Unicorn squeaked. "Damn it! It's cold," she said and starting waving at taxis. A blue-topped cab pulled over for her. "You get in the back," she told Gus as she jumped in the front passenger seat herself, swinging the sheathed horn around to her front so she could sit down. She had no intention of being next to that dirty old bum if she could help it.
"Where to, miss?"
"38th and Lexington," she said, gratefully feeling the cab's heat blow over her legs. When she was the new Unicorn, she would establish her office in Arizona. No, Hawaii. Not New York, she was sure of that now. As the driver brought them to East 38th Street and double parked halfway up the block, Ashley told him to wait for her. She hopped out and went up the front steps of a ten-story stone building. On the heavy front door was a bronze plaque that read KENNETH DRED FOUNDATION and the number 28. She rang the bell and waited, hopping up and down impatiently. After further rings brought no response, Unicorn hurried back to the taxi.
Slamming the door, she said over her shoulder, "You give us the address, Gus."
"Sawright. 118th Street. Ninth Avenue," came the wheezy voice from the back seat. The driver grunted and rolled back into traffic. Staring out the front window, Ashley was annoyed that no one had been at that address. She knew her mother had called there last night and told the Wolf that she would be coming by today. Honestly, nothing ever went smooth for her!
As the taxi headed north, Unicorn pouted. She hoped Bane would take her seriously. Being a cute little blonde worked both ways. Men knocked each other over to get her attention but they also acted as if her head was filled with sawdust. The last time she had seen Jeremy Bane had been five long years ago. Her mother had talked with him and said he had agreed to train her in Midnight but where was he? For that matter, where was the woman who had been with him that time, Cindy Brunner? Hopefully she was still around as well.
In the back seat, Aspara Gus was humming absently to himself, wiping the snot running down from his flat nose with his sleeve. Ashley shuddered. How on Earth did her elegant, refined mother ever know this nasty creature? Had he been better off not that long ago? For the first time, the young Unicorn wondered what his story might be. Maybe she even began to feel curious.
At 118th and Ninth, the driver pulled over at the curb while Ashley counted out money and gave him an appropriate tip. "I wouldn't hang around here long if I was a purty little thing like you, miss," the driver said.
"Thanks but I'm armed," she said as she got out. Unicorn watched Gus struggle out of the back seat, bending to pick up a cigarette butt off the sidewalk. "Dog end. Means it'll be a lucky day," he mumbled.
Unicorn turned away from him with barely hidden disgust. She hadn't thought anything could make smoking a cigarette more repulsive but picking one up that some stranger had dropped... She shuddered visibly, then managed to turn her attention to what took up thr ground floor of the faded brick building in front of her. A faded wooden sign ran its length, announcing CORNER LAUNDROMAT OPEN 24 HOURS. The long window had been boarded up so long ago that political posters pasted to it were of officials already resigned in disgrace. The main door was covered with a steel grating held down with a padlock, but on the other side of the ancient laundromat was a plain wooden door with no markings of any kind. Gus limped up to it and pressed the white doorbell, holding it down so a steady ringing could be heard inside.
On the second floor, a curtain moved in a window, but Ashley caught no glimpse of anyone who might have been looking out. Gus still held the doorbell down, and then a lock clicked and he stepped back. The door opened just a crack and a young black man peered at them with deep suspicion. "You ain't been invited," he said with a vague accent that sounded almost Italian.
"Don't need no invitation to visit my kin!" snorted Gus, which prompted a coughing jag from him. When he finally got hold of himself, he said, "The secret word is Toejam."
"Wait a minute," the young man said dubiously, staring at Ashley as if she were a ghost and having her calmly return the gaze. He was only gone a few seconds, before ushering them in. "Wait," he said. "You ain't packing, is you?"
"Do I LOOK like I could afford a bullet, much less a gun?" yelled Aspara Gus.
Asked the same question, Ashley tapped the sheathed cylinder across her back. "I've got the magic horn of a Unicorn," she said.
"Oh, well, ask a stupid question..." muttered the young man. He was wearing a loose green robe that reached his ankles, rope sandals and a two thin copper bracelets on one wrist. Ashley was certain he was not an American black but from some other country, although she had no idea where. Her geography was weak.
He led them into a complete surprising room filled with heavy hand-woven drapes, rich carpeting and wicker furniture. The warm air smelled of sandalwood. A round cherrywood table held a foot-high bronze statue of a man in armor, with a mace in one raised hand. Some ancient books leaned against each other in corners, and a silver platter of various cheeses and cut-up fruit was sitting on one of the chairs. A doorway was blocked by hanging beads. Ashley stared openly, she was not sure what she had been expecting but certainly not this.
"The Holy One will be see you now," said the young man, bowing from the waist and going to stand behind one of the chairs. Behind the beads in the doorway, a wide short figure could be vaguely seen.
"Here comes old Flat-Top," sniffed Gus. "No mistaking my little brother."
The strangest looking man Ashley Whitaker had ever glimpsed entered the room and leered at her.
IV.
Bane found a parking spot on 116th Street and eased in. "You've been quiet, Max. Having second thoughts?"
"Sure. Flat-Top is not the sweetest guy you'll ever met. I thought of quitting his crew a few times but I remember what happened to the last man who walked away. Not enough for a decent burial." He turned his deep dark brown eyes toward the Dire Wolf. "You know that Flat-Top is a genuine no fooling warlock, don't you?"
"Sure. A sorcerer from Danarak. His real name is Ngosu Sukili, which means 'monkey finger,' God knows why. If my old friend Kwali was still alive, I'd let him handle this warlock...." Bane shook his head. "Okay. Tell me the layout."
"Flat-Top has taken over a laundromat that was closed for years, all the machines are long gone. He had decorated it to suit his home country, whatever that is. Danarak, I guess. On the third floor are his living quarters, his harem and bodyguards. I never saw what was on the second floor, for all I know they're just regular apartments for rent."
The Dire Wolf tapped the steering wheel impatiently. "Huh. Have you ever seen the famous Silver Hammer yourself?"
"Just once. Flat-Top was rubbing it with oil for some reason. It's small, almost like a toy, with a curved handle and a rectangular head. All silver. Funny little thing," Max finished thoughtfully. "Tiny and yet somehow it seemed dangerous."
"It's a talisman from Malberon himself," Bane said. "I've been looking for it for years. I don't want it in Ngosu's hands, I want it destroyed or secured where no one can use it." He unlocked his door. "Thanks, Max. You can go now, I'm taking over."
"What? Hell no," Max snarled. "I want to see the fireworks when you two meet. I'm going to knock on the front door now." He started to get out of the car, but Bane touched his arm.
"Give me five minutes to scout the scene," the Dire Wolf said. "Then you go in. I'll be watching from nearby."
Max Welles thought about it for the barest second. "Okay. Okay. I'm going into that drugstore there and look at the magazines for five minutes. Then the fun will start." He suddenly grinned, showing very well-kept teeth. "You know, Bane, I'm kinda glad you fix to tangle with my boss. He deserves it."
As they stood on the sidewalk in the freezing air, Bane locked his car and raised one finger in an ironic salute. "After I see you enter the place, I'll come in." With that, he turned and strode quickly up the block. Max watched him with a smile, then hurried into the nearby Rex-All Pharmacy where it was at least warm.
Crossing at the curb, Bane darted over east and continued along the side street, past one newspaper and magazine store barely big enough for the owner and a single customer. Out of sight of Max Welles, the Dire Wolf shook his head at the obvious game the big black man was playing. Honestly...! He came around to the back of the building that must be the converted laundromat where Flat-Top kept his headquarters. There was the guard right where he expected him, standing in a doorway with a cigarette drooping from his lips and his shoulders up around his ears. In the split-second between when he spotted Bane swinging around the corner but before he could react, the man caught an open-hand blow that chopped like an axe where his neck joined the shoulder. It made a deep thumping noise. The guard sagged to his knees, and Bane yanked him away from the door and arranged him so he was sitting propped up against the wall behind him. Just another drunk sleeping it off, as far as anyone would tell.
The Dire Wolf broke the lock with his three-inch palm blow and went in. No one was in sight. He was standing in a warm, pleasantly scented foyer decorated with potted plants and a painting of a sunset behind a mountain. The Dire Wolf raised an eyebrow, not at all what he had been expecting. To his right was a narrow staircase and he stalked silently up it, placing his toes at the far side of each step to avoid creaking. Bane had told Max he was going to scout the building from outside but that had just been to delay the big man a minute. He was sure by now that Max was at the front door ready to warn his boss company was coming.
At the second floor landing, he got another surprise. He found two rooms, both with the doors open. One was a study, lined with books and a three-foot globe of the Earth. Two comfortable chairs sat under a reading light and there was a small writing desk piled with loose papers. On one chair was a copy of Proust. Bane glanced at it, it was in the original French and a cardboard bookmark stuck out halfway through. He was beginning to raise his estimate of Flat-Top. The sorcerer was a more cultured than he had expected. Then Bane went into the other room and found the chamber of horrors.
This was a workshop for necromancy. The solid horizontal frame shaped to hold a body, the leather restrain straps, the dark stains soaked into the wooden surface. Esoteric symbols painted in intricate spirals on the walls. The rack of curved blades and slim ebony wands. Human bones nailed to the ceiling, a decorative wall hanging made of human skin. This was sorcery with a voodoo influence, evidenced by a woven leather device that was a mojo filter. And, looking down over it all, a bronze statue of a man in plate armor with a horned helmet and a studded mace in one fist.. the effigy of Draldros.
There was no uncertainty in Bane now. Before he left this hellhole, Ngosu must die.
V.
Ngosu Sukili was not more than five feet nine, but wide enough that he barely fit through the door, with massive shoulders and thick arms. He was wearing an opulent dark green robe shot through with golden threads, its bell-shaped sleeves hiding his hands. It was clear where he had gotten his nickname because the top of his head was almost completely flat, as if he had been smashed with a heavy flat rock and somehow lived. The glittering tangled black hair hung past his waist, indeed to his knees. Ngosu was as dark as most Danarakans, his skin glossy with almost purple undertones, and his left eye was bigger than his right. It bulged out white and sightless, a dreaded Ju-ju eyeball known in forbidden magic.
As he entered, Flat-Top fixed that unseeing eye on his vistors. "I know you," he told Gus, "you know me. We were not meant to meet again."
"The blood brother oath still ties us together, you know that." The derelict coughed, hawked up a mouthful of phlegm and spat it into a basket beside one of the wicker chairs as Flat-Top scowled. "Anyway. Look. I brought you a present for your birthday, whenever that is."
"I had noticed her," admitted the African sorcerer. "Pretty enough. No more than seventeen, I guess. What price do you ask?"
"Aw, she's a gift. I been thinking, though, I could use a room to sleep. This winter's killing me. Sometimes I hang out in Grand Central mens' rooms just to warm my feet." The ragged man raised one old brown shoe, its toe split so a dingy sock showed.
"Whoa, that's enough of that kind of talk!" Ashley broke in. "I'm nobody's gift. So. You're the famous Flat-Top, huh? Warlock from the realm of Danarak? You're the one I've been trying to find." She stood with small fists on narrow hips, feet well apart, not intimidated in the least.
The sorcerer smiled indulgently. "Silly child." He lowered himself into a wicker chair, leaned back and patted his left thigh. "Here. Sit."
"And catch some disease? Not gonna happen." She did step closer, keeping a wary eye on both Gus and the guard standing in one corner. "The real question is, where is Malberon's hammer?"
"Ah. I see. Why do you ask?" whispered the sorcerer.
"Because it's leaving with me," said Ashley with the sublime confidence of youth.
Now Flat-Top could not control his laughter, laughing until he had to wipe his eyes. "Oh, by the Dread One, you are priceless, little girl. Gus, where did you find this jewel?"
The old derelict had not been laughing. He blew his nose on a sodden rag from his trench coat and gave Ashley a vaguely mournful gaze. "She is a special one, innitshe?"
"Indeed." The sorcerer reached inside his robe and drew forth a silver hammer, its handle short enough to almost be covered by a man's hand and its head no bigger than a fist. "Here, the Hammer of Malberon, crafted and ensorcelled more than thirty thousand years ago..." His voice broke off in alarm as the tiny object wriggled and tore loose from his grip, spinning end over end to thump into the waiting hand of Max Welles.
"I knew it!" Max shouted. "It chose me! I am the fated one. And it lusts to kill..." He drew back his arm and flung the small mallet to whiz across the room straight at Ashley Whitaker. Unexpectedly quick, Gus swung into its path and the hammer crashed with a horrible wet mushy noise in the center of that bearded face. Even as the derelict cried out and fell, the silver hammer whirled around like a thrown boomerang and returned to Max's grasp.
"It's beautiful!" the big man cried. "Oh, how hungry it is. You're next, blondie!" He raised his arm again but three shots rang out sharply in that room. Max crossed his eyes comically and pressed his free hand to his chest, where bright red stains were showing on his shirt. He groaned and dropped face down.
Holding the 22 target pistol with both hands, Unicorn looked dismayed for the barest instant at what she had done. Then she caught herself and put a stern expression on her face. "Yeah, that's right. You two, don't move. I'm going to take that damn thing out of here and as long as you guys hold still, you won't be sucking up any bullets."
The broad, sullen face of Ngosu Sukili fastened its one dead white eye on her. "That gun weighs fifty pounds. You can't hold it up. It's too heavy. You're going to drop it. Drop it, I say!"
With a clunk, the target pistol fell from Unicorn's hand. "How... oh, magic, I get it." She bent to pick it up again, but the guard came rushing at her from behind the chair where Flat-Top sat. The young Danarakan lunged forward, hands reaching out...
And he was abruptly spun halfway around as a steel-capped boot thumped hard right up against the side of his head. Jeremy Bane had dived over the side of the stairs behind them and lunged forward. Now, as he lowered his leg, the Dire Wolf saw that the guard would not be getting up again without help.
"Hey, HI THERE!" squealed Ashley Whitaker in delight. "Good to see you again."
"Hello, Unicorn." Bane stepped back to stand beside the little blonde, who had retrieved her gun. "Looks like you've got everything under control."
"Well, except for Good-Looking over there, he can hypnotize you or something."
Bane started moving toward Flat-Top. "That's all over now. Ngosu Sukili, on my authority as a knight of Tel Shai, I am taking you home to Danarak where your chieftains have been waiting to execute you for your crimes. Don't try to resist..."
From Max Welles' limp lifeless hand, the tiny silver hammer rose up and whirled toward where Flat-Top was summoning it. Quicker than a snake striking, Bane swerved and caught the ensorcelled weapon to stop it in mid-flight. The magick device wriggled and tried to get free, but he held it tight and forced it down with both hands.
"Oh, no you don't," growled the Dire Wolf as he struggled with the hammer. It yanked him forward, dragging him off-balance, drawing closer to the waiting warlock. The damned thing started to break free. Bane suddenly raised the silver hammer and brought it down with all his strength squarely on top of Ngosu's flat skull, cracking it audibly. The sorcerer convulsed and Bane struck again to make sure he was dead. Only then did the talisman of Malberon go still and become just an inanimate object.
Across the room, Ashley was staring in a daze. Everything had happened so fast. It hadn't even sunk in yet that she had just shot her first man. She needed a few seconds to process the events of the last few seconds, but she figured she could at least return her pistol to its holster in the small of her back. "Whoa. Jeremy, can you teach me how to do things like that...?"
A hint of a smile touched Bane's face. "If you're accepted at Tel Shai, you'll be learning Kumundu, Ashley. What a mess, I think we should call Department 21 Black and have them clean up the bodies so we don't have to deal with the police. Still, looks like everything is finished here. No, wait.. that guy is still alive over there."
"Aspara Gus," she gasped and ran over to kneel over him. Even now, she could hardly bear to touch the filthy old man but she took his hand. "He took that hammer blow that was meant for me. Hey. Hey, can't you hear me?"
The derelict coughed wetly and bright red blood came up. He spit out a jagged tooth. "Aye, there's me broken luck," he said as he died. His eyes remained open.
Bane did not seem moved by the scene. "Did you know him, Unicorn?"
"No. I never met him before today. My mother seems to have known him a long time ago. But I guess, you could say... he was a friend of mine."
9/19/2014
1/17/1997
I.
In the clear dry winter sunlight, Ashley Whitaker was a stunning sight getting out of the taxi. Dressed all in white from boots to snug jeans to waist-length down-filled jacket, with her pale skin and long platinum hair she looked almost like some snow elf. Just sixteen, just over five feet tall and just over one hundred pounds, Ashley was gorgeous to where she took it for granted and hardly thought about it. Her mind was occupied by the fact that she was freezing and hadn't remembered to bring her wool hat. At least she had her white leather gloves.
The taxi pulled away, leaving her in front of Bryant Park behind the Public Library. Ashley placed the three-foot long leather sheath across her back and buckled its strap diagonally across her chest. It still was immensely satisfying that her mother had come to trust her with the priceless talisman, the ensorcelled horn that had given them both the war name Unicorn. Ashley grinned and could barely keep from hugging herself with delight. Then she saw the derelict on the bench eyeing her with clearly bad intent.
That brought her down to earth with a jolt. Nasty old duck. The man was wrapped in a ragged brown trenchcoat that came down to his beat-up rubber galoshes. It was hard to tell what he looked like, with the explosion of dirty grey hair and matted brown beard reaching to his chest. The way he grinned at her with broken teeth was not reassuring, either. She felt a little heartburn from nausea.
But she had wanted to be the new Unicorn. She was going to have to deal with worse than this. Fastened horizontally to the small of her back was the 22 target pistol she had been practicing with the past year. It didn't have much stopping power but she was accurate with it and knowing it was under her jacket was reassuring. Ashley started heading toward the wretch.
"Excuse me," she sang out cheerfully. "What's your favorite vegetable?"
"Asparagus of course," he answered. "And, even though you can't be anyone else in that get-up, what's your favorite animal, sweetheart?"
"Unicorn. Of course. Okay, Gus, here I am. What's your offer?"
"We need to get inside somewhere," he grumbled. "There's ice in my beard."
"Yeah, it's cold," she said with no sympathy. "Come on, there's a McDonald's across the street. I want to get this over with." She jerked a thumb at him to get up.
Aspara Gus slowly pushed himself upright, swaying a bit. "Legs hurting bad today," he said. "Gimme a minute."
Unicorn had not learned patience yet, she folded her arms and tapped a foot as the old man stretched and started painfully to walk. "Come ON," she said.
"Wait till you're seventy, girlie. All right, I'm coming." He followed behind her as she crossed 42nd Street toward the McDonald's. Ashley glanced back and saw his eyes fixed on her little rear, but the withering glare she threw him was wasted. This was going to be a long day, she realized. Once they got inside the steamy fast food joint with its smell of coffee and grease and wet mops, she lowered her shoulders from where they had been desperately raise. At least it was warm in here.
Ashley unbent a little. "I'll pay for a meal. You sit down, Gus. What do you want?"
"Big Mac, I guess, fries. Coffee, black. Thanks, Unicorn." The ragged old man limped to a booth toward the back. He was bent and stiff, and she was beginning to feel a twinge of pity.
At the counter, Unicorn ordered what he asked for, then got herself a chicken sandwich and a diet soda. The boy behind the counter took her money and gave her back change, beaming at her shamelessly. Ashley gave him a smile as if it were a present and took the tray back to where Gus sprawled in the booth. He seemed preoccupied with scratching a spot on his left ribs but perked up at the smell of coffee.
"Ah, methanks to you, child. I ain't had java in too long." He began to dig in as if the food was trying to escape, grabbing the burger with both hands and wiping his greasy fingers on his trenchcoat.
As she took a dainty bite of her chicken sandwich, Unicorn realized she was getting used to the old beast. "My mother says you used to trust you. She says if anyone knows where the hammer is, you would."
Gus glanced up with a strip of lettuce hanging from his mouth. "Aye. The Silver Hammer. Better to leave it where it be, missy."
"That's not what she says," Ashley replied. She took another bite, chewed carefully and said, "She says if Flat-Top gets that thing, no one is safe."
II.
Without breaking stride, Bane stepped up to the weathered back door and drove the heel of his hand just above the lock. It was not just strength that snapped that lock and swung the door inward, it was the technique of bringing torque up from his legs and driving the whole of his body into the impact. He stepped into gloom and closed the door behind him. His night vision kicked in instantly and he could see well enough to make out the stairs to his left and the hallway stretching in front of him. On the wall was a row of a dozen narrow mailboxes. One of them must read the alias of the man he had come to capture.
Trotting lightly and silently up the stairs which should have creaked, the Dire Wolf wanted to get this over with. His old friend and colleague Mary Cassidy had called him early that morning to let him now her daughter was going to be in town later that day. She had asked Bane if he would help with her training and he had reluctantly agreed. The last time he had met the daughter, Ashley had been a precocious ten year old who had smuggled herself with him on a dangerous mission to Chyl. To his own surprise, Bane had rather gotten to like the child and had even agreed he would sponsor her for Tel Shai membership when she turned eighteen. He felt he was going to regret that promise now.
The second floor landing stank of urine and cabbage and tobacco. Bane scowled. He reached beneath the sleeves of his long black winter coat and adjusted the hilts of the matched silver daggers on his forearms to make sure they were accessible. The long-barreled Colt 38 had been shifted from its usual spot behind his hip to the side where it could be reached under the coat. Bane stalked noiselessly down the hall, where faint light got through grimy windows and stopped at a door that had 22 on it in tiny plastic numbers.
His grey eyes narrowed. Bane stepped up to the door and pressed his ear against, slowing his breath, altering his perception. This was a Tel Shai technique he had never fully mastered but he could enhance his hearing enough to help. A minute passed in which he stood frozen in place. He could hear the deep raspy breaths of someone in deep slumber. There was also the buzz of an appliance, probably an electric heater. The person was not near the door, he sounded to be in another room...
Loud Spanish music suddenly blared from a doorway further down the hall, breaking his focus and ruining Bane's concentration. He glared up at that door but then caught himself and realized he had learned enough anyway. The Dire Wolf assumed the door would be locked and he stepped into place, drew his elbow back three inches and struck his open hand above the doorknob to break the lock, jumping inside and closing the door behind him.
It was a filthy mess, a low-ceilinged room littered with crumpled newspapers and empty pizza boxes and whiskey bottles, with clothes scattered across the floor and a knee-high electric heater pointed toward a couch. Stretched out on that couch, wrapped tightly in blankets like a cocoon, was a middle-aged black man who stirred drowsily at the unexplained noise. His bloodshot eyes flickered and then widened as he saw the gaunt man in black who loomed up over him.
"Hey, Max. Long time no see," Bane said quietly. "No, don't budge. You're bundled up too much to even try to get away." The Dire Wolf stepped closer. "Max Welles, you haven't been in trouble for years now. I was hoping you'd stay straight."
"Hello, Jeremy," said the black man. His head was shaven but showed heavy five-clock shadow, and he had a thick mustache. As Bane watched, Max sat up just a little and glanced around the room to see if anyone else was there. "What would you want with me?"
"Not you. The guy you've been seen with."
"Flat-Top? I dunno where he is," Max lied unconvincingly. His eyes strayed involuntarily toward a lump that showed under a sweater tossed on the floor. Bane whipped out an arm and came back with a Glock that had been hidden there.
"Look, Max," the Dire Wolf said, "let's cut to the chase. I'm so tired of beating up henchmen to get information. You've seen me in action. You know I can smack you until you're too bruised to stand up, so why not skip all that?"
Surprisingly, the man thought it over and slowly nodded. He sat up and began to unwind the blankets. "Never stays warm in here. I swear there's a hole in the walls somewhere. Okay, Jeremy, you got a point. I know I can't fight you. I'll take you to Flat-Top."
"Take me? Why not just tell me?" Bane snapped.
Max Welles got up, a few inches taller than the Dire Wolf and much broader. He grinned maliciously down. "Because I want to see you tackle him. I'm seen him crack a man's spine over his knee. I figure you'll both take a pounding and I want to watch." And he laughed.
III.
Stepping back out on 42nd Street, Unicorn squeaked. "Damn it! It's cold," she said and starting waving at taxis. A blue-topped cab pulled over for her. "You get in the back," she told Gus as she jumped in the front passenger seat herself, swinging the sheathed horn around to her front so she could sit down. She had no intention of being next to that dirty old bum if she could help it.
"Where to, miss?"
"38th and Lexington," she said, gratefully feeling the cab's heat blow over her legs. When she was the new Unicorn, she would establish her office in Arizona. No, Hawaii. Not New York, she was sure of that now. As the driver brought them to East 38th Street and double parked halfway up the block, Ashley told him to wait for her. She hopped out and went up the front steps of a ten-story stone building. On the heavy front door was a bronze plaque that read KENNETH DRED FOUNDATION and the number 28. She rang the bell and waited, hopping up and down impatiently. After further rings brought no response, Unicorn hurried back to the taxi.
Slamming the door, she said over her shoulder, "You give us the address, Gus."
"Sawright. 118th Street. Ninth Avenue," came the wheezy voice from the back seat. The driver grunted and rolled back into traffic. Staring out the front window, Ashley was annoyed that no one had been at that address. She knew her mother had called there last night and told the Wolf that she would be coming by today. Honestly, nothing ever went smooth for her!
As the taxi headed north, Unicorn pouted. She hoped Bane would take her seriously. Being a cute little blonde worked both ways. Men knocked each other over to get her attention but they also acted as if her head was filled with sawdust. The last time she had seen Jeremy Bane had been five long years ago. Her mother had talked with him and said he had agreed to train her in Midnight but where was he? For that matter, where was the woman who had been with him that time, Cindy Brunner? Hopefully she was still around as well.
In the back seat, Aspara Gus was humming absently to himself, wiping the snot running down from his flat nose with his sleeve. Ashley shuddered. How on Earth did her elegant, refined mother ever know this nasty creature? Had he been better off not that long ago? For the first time, the young Unicorn wondered what his story might be. Maybe she even began to feel curious.
At 118th and Ninth, the driver pulled over at the curb while Ashley counted out money and gave him an appropriate tip. "I wouldn't hang around here long if I was a purty little thing like you, miss," the driver said.
"Thanks but I'm armed," she said as she got out. Unicorn watched Gus struggle out of the back seat, bending to pick up a cigarette butt off the sidewalk. "Dog end. Means it'll be a lucky day," he mumbled.
Unicorn turned away from him with barely hidden disgust. She hadn't thought anything could make smoking a cigarette more repulsive but picking one up that some stranger had dropped... She shuddered visibly, then managed to turn her attention to what took up thr ground floor of the faded brick building in front of her. A faded wooden sign ran its length, announcing CORNER LAUNDROMAT OPEN 24 HOURS. The long window had been boarded up so long ago that political posters pasted to it were of officials already resigned in disgrace. The main door was covered with a steel grating held down with a padlock, but on the other side of the ancient laundromat was a plain wooden door with no markings of any kind. Gus limped up to it and pressed the white doorbell, holding it down so a steady ringing could be heard inside.
On the second floor, a curtain moved in a window, but Ashley caught no glimpse of anyone who might have been looking out. Gus still held the doorbell down, and then a lock clicked and he stepped back. The door opened just a crack and a young black man peered at them with deep suspicion. "You ain't been invited," he said with a vague accent that sounded almost Italian.
"Don't need no invitation to visit my kin!" snorted Gus, which prompted a coughing jag from him. When he finally got hold of himself, he said, "The secret word is Toejam."
"Wait a minute," the young man said dubiously, staring at Ashley as if she were a ghost and having her calmly return the gaze. He was only gone a few seconds, before ushering them in. "Wait," he said. "You ain't packing, is you?"
"Do I LOOK like I could afford a bullet, much less a gun?" yelled Aspara Gus.
Asked the same question, Ashley tapped the sheathed cylinder across her back. "I've got the magic horn of a Unicorn," she said.
"Oh, well, ask a stupid question..." muttered the young man. He was wearing a loose green robe that reached his ankles, rope sandals and a two thin copper bracelets on one wrist. Ashley was certain he was not an American black but from some other country, although she had no idea where. Her geography was weak.
He led them into a complete surprising room filled with heavy hand-woven drapes, rich carpeting and wicker furniture. The warm air smelled of sandalwood. A round cherrywood table held a foot-high bronze statue of a man in armor, with a mace in one raised hand. Some ancient books leaned against each other in corners, and a silver platter of various cheeses and cut-up fruit was sitting on one of the chairs. A doorway was blocked by hanging beads. Ashley stared openly, she was not sure what she had been expecting but certainly not this.
"The Holy One will be see you now," said the young man, bowing from the waist and going to stand behind one of the chairs. Behind the beads in the doorway, a wide short figure could be vaguely seen.
"Here comes old Flat-Top," sniffed Gus. "No mistaking my little brother."
The strangest looking man Ashley Whitaker had ever glimpsed entered the room and leered at her.
IV.
Bane found a parking spot on 116th Street and eased in. "You've been quiet, Max. Having second thoughts?"
"Sure. Flat-Top is not the sweetest guy you'll ever met. I thought of quitting his crew a few times but I remember what happened to the last man who walked away. Not enough for a decent burial." He turned his deep dark brown eyes toward the Dire Wolf. "You know that Flat-Top is a genuine no fooling warlock, don't you?"
"Sure. A sorcerer from Danarak. His real name is Ngosu Sukili, which means 'monkey finger,' God knows why. If my old friend Kwali was still alive, I'd let him handle this warlock...." Bane shook his head. "Okay. Tell me the layout."
"Flat-Top has taken over a laundromat that was closed for years, all the machines are long gone. He had decorated it to suit his home country, whatever that is. Danarak, I guess. On the third floor are his living quarters, his harem and bodyguards. I never saw what was on the second floor, for all I know they're just regular apartments for rent."
The Dire Wolf tapped the steering wheel impatiently. "Huh. Have you ever seen the famous Silver Hammer yourself?"
"Just once. Flat-Top was rubbing it with oil for some reason. It's small, almost like a toy, with a curved handle and a rectangular head. All silver. Funny little thing," Max finished thoughtfully. "Tiny and yet somehow it seemed dangerous."
"It's a talisman from Malberon himself," Bane said. "I've been looking for it for years. I don't want it in Ngosu's hands, I want it destroyed or secured where no one can use it." He unlocked his door. "Thanks, Max. You can go now, I'm taking over."
"What? Hell no," Max snarled. "I want to see the fireworks when you two meet. I'm going to knock on the front door now." He started to get out of the car, but Bane touched his arm.
"Give me five minutes to scout the scene," the Dire Wolf said. "Then you go in. I'll be watching from nearby."
Max Welles thought about it for the barest second. "Okay. Okay. I'm going into that drugstore there and look at the magazines for five minutes. Then the fun will start." He suddenly grinned, showing very well-kept teeth. "You know, Bane, I'm kinda glad you fix to tangle with my boss. He deserves it."
As they stood on the sidewalk in the freezing air, Bane locked his car and raised one finger in an ironic salute. "After I see you enter the place, I'll come in." With that, he turned and strode quickly up the block. Max watched him with a smile, then hurried into the nearby Rex-All Pharmacy where it was at least warm.
Crossing at the curb, Bane darted over east and continued along the side street, past one newspaper and magazine store barely big enough for the owner and a single customer. Out of sight of Max Welles, the Dire Wolf shook his head at the obvious game the big black man was playing. Honestly...! He came around to the back of the building that must be the converted laundromat where Flat-Top kept his headquarters. There was the guard right where he expected him, standing in a doorway with a cigarette drooping from his lips and his shoulders up around his ears. In the split-second between when he spotted Bane swinging around the corner but before he could react, the man caught an open-hand blow that chopped like an axe where his neck joined the shoulder. It made a deep thumping noise. The guard sagged to his knees, and Bane yanked him away from the door and arranged him so he was sitting propped up against the wall behind him. Just another drunk sleeping it off, as far as anyone would tell.
The Dire Wolf broke the lock with his three-inch palm blow and went in. No one was in sight. He was standing in a warm, pleasantly scented foyer decorated with potted plants and a painting of a sunset behind a mountain. The Dire Wolf raised an eyebrow, not at all what he had been expecting. To his right was a narrow staircase and he stalked silently up it, placing his toes at the far side of each step to avoid creaking. Bane had told Max he was going to scout the building from outside but that had just been to delay the big man a minute. He was sure by now that Max was at the front door ready to warn his boss company was coming.
At the second floor landing, he got another surprise. He found two rooms, both with the doors open. One was a study, lined with books and a three-foot globe of the Earth. Two comfortable chairs sat under a reading light and there was a small writing desk piled with loose papers. On one chair was a copy of Proust. Bane glanced at it, it was in the original French and a cardboard bookmark stuck out halfway through. He was beginning to raise his estimate of Flat-Top. The sorcerer was a more cultured than he had expected. Then Bane went into the other room and found the chamber of horrors.
This was a workshop for necromancy. The solid horizontal frame shaped to hold a body, the leather restrain straps, the dark stains soaked into the wooden surface. Esoteric symbols painted in intricate spirals on the walls. The rack of curved blades and slim ebony wands. Human bones nailed to the ceiling, a decorative wall hanging made of human skin. This was sorcery with a voodoo influence, evidenced by a woven leather device that was a mojo filter. And, looking down over it all, a bronze statue of a man in plate armor with a horned helmet and a studded mace in one fist.. the effigy of Draldros.
There was no uncertainty in Bane now. Before he left this hellhole, Ngosu must die.
V.
Ngosu Sukili was not more than five feet nine, but wide enough that he barely fit through the door, with massive shoulders and thick arms. He was wearing an opulent dark green robe shot through with golden threads, its bell-shaped sleeves hiding his hands. It was clear where he had gotten his nickname because the top of his head was almost completely flat, as if he had been smashed with a heavy flat rock and somehow lived. The glittering tangled black hair hung past his waist, indeed to his knees. Ngosu was as dark as most Danarakans, his skin glossy with almost purple undertones, and his left eye was bigger than his right. It bulged out white and sightless, a dreaded Ju-ju eyeball known in forbidden magic.
As he entered, Flat-Top fixed that unseeing eye on his vistors. "I know you," he told Gus, "you know me. We were not meant to meet again."
"The blood brother oath still ties us together, you know that." The derelict coughed, hawked up a mouthful of phlegm and spat it into a basket beside one of the wicker chairs as Flat-Top scowled. "Anyway. Look. I brought you a present for your birthday, whenever that is."
"I had noticed her," admitted the African sorcerer. "Pretty enough. No more than seventeen, I guess. What price do you ask?"
"Aw, she's a gift. I been thinking, though, I could use a room to sleep. This winter's killing me. Sometimes I hang out in Grand Central mens' rooms just to warm my feet." The ragged man raised one old brown shoe, its toe split so a dingy sock showed.
"Whoa, that's enough of that kind of talk!" Ashley broke in. "I'm nobody's gift. So. You're the famous Flat-Top, huh? Warlock from the realm of Danarak? You're the one I've been trying to find." She stood with small fists on narrow hips, feet well apart, not intimidated in the least.
The sorcerer smiled indulgently. "Silly child." He lowered himself into a wicker chair, leaned back and patted his left thigh. "Here. Sit."
"And catch some disease? Not gonna happen." She did step closer, keeping a wary eye on both Gus and the guard standing in one corner. "The real question is, where is Malberon's hammer?"
"Ah. I see. Why do you ask?" whispered the sorcerer.
"Because it's leaving with me," said Ashley with the sublime confidence of youth.
Now Flat-Top could not control his laughter, laughing until he had to wipe his eyes. "Oh, by the Dread One, you are priceless, little girl. Gus, where did you find this jewel?"
The old derelict had not been laughing. He blew his nose on a sodden rag from his trench coat and gave Ashley a vaguely mournful gaze. "She is a special one, innitshe?"
"Indeed." The sorcerer reached inside his robe and drew forth a silver hammer, its handle short enough to almost be covered by a man's hand and its head no bigger than a fist. "Here, the Hammer of Malberon, crafted and ensorcelled more than thirty thousand years ago..." His voice broke off in alarm as the tiny object wriggled and tore loose from his grip, spinning end over end to thump into the waiting hand of Max Welles.
"I knew it!" Max shouted. "It chose me! I am the fated one. And it lusts to kill..." He drew back his arm and flung the small mallet to whiz across the room straight at Ashley Whitaker. Unexpectedly quick, Gus swung into its path and the hammer crashed with a horrible wet mushy noise in the center of that bearded face. Even as the derelict cried out and fell, the silver hammer whirled around like a thrown boomerang and returned to Max's grasp.
"It's beautiful!" the big man cried. "Oh, how hungry it is. You're next, blondie!" He raised his arm again but three shots rang out sharply in that room. Max crossed his eyes comically and pressed his free hand to his chest, where bright red stains were showing on his shirt. He groaned and dropped face down.
Holding the 22 target pistol with both hands, Unicorn looked dismayed for the barest instant at what she had done. Then she caught herself and put a stern expression on her face. "Yeah, that's right. You two, don't move. I'm going to take that damn thing out of here and as long as you guys hold still, you won't be sucking up any bullets."
The broad, sullen face of Ngosu Sukili fastened its one dead white eye on her. "That gun weighs fifty pounds. You can't hold it up. It's too heavy. You're going to drop it. Drop it, I say!"
With a clunk, the target pistol fell from Unicorn's hand. "How... oh, magic, I get it." She bent to pick it up again, but the guard came rushing at her from behind the chair where Flat-Top sat. The young Danarakan lunged forward, hands reaching out...
And he was abruptly spun halfway around as a steel-capped boot thumped hard right up against the side of his head. Jeremy Bane had dived over the side of the stairs behind them and lunged forward. Now, as he lowered his leg, the Dire Wolf saw that the guard would not be getting up again without help.
"Hey, HI THERE!" squealed Ashley Whitaker in delight. "Good to see you again."
"Hello, Unicorn." Bane stepped back to stand beside the little blonde, who had retrieved her gun. "Looks like you've got everything under control."
"Well, except for Good-Looking over there, he can hypnotize you or something."
Bane started moving toward Flat-Top. "That's all over now. Ngosu Sukili, on my authority as a knight of Tel Shai, I am taking you home to Danarak where your chieftains have been waiting to execute you for your crimes. Don't try to resist..."
From Max Welles' limp lifeless hand, the tiny silver hammer rose up and whirled toward where Flat-Top was summoning it. Quicker than a snake striking, Bane swerved and caught the ensorcelled weapon to stop it in mid-flight. The magick device wriggled and tried to get free, but he held it tight and forced it down with both hands.
"Oh, no you don't," growled the Dire Wolf as he struggled with the hammer. It yanked him forward, dragging him off-balance, drawing closer to the waiting warlock. The damned thing started to break free. Bane suddenly raised the silver hammer and brought it down with all his strength squarely on top of Ngosu's flat skull, cracking it audibly. The sorcerer convulsed and Bane struck again to make sure he was dead. Only then did the talisman of Malberon go still and become just an inanimate object.
Across the room, Ashley was staring in a daze. Everything had happened so fast. It hadn't even sunk in yet that she had just shot her first man. She needed a few seconds to process the events of the last few seconds, but she figured she could at least return her pistol to its holster in the small of her back. "Whoa. Jeremy, can you teach me how to do things like that...?"
A hint of a smile touched Bane's face. "If you're accepted at Tel Shai, you'll be learning Kumundu, Ashley. What a mess, I think we should call Department 21 Black and have them clean up the bodies so we don't have to deal with the police. Still, looks like everything is finished here. No, wait.. that guy is still alive over there."
"Aspara Gus," she gasped and ran over to kneel over him. Even now, she could hardly bear to touch the filthy old man but she took his hand. "He took that hammer blow that was meant for me. Hey. Hey, can't you hear me?"
The derelict coughed wetly and bright red blood came up. He spit out a jagged tooth. "Aye, there's me broken luck," he said as he died. His eyes remained open.
Bane did not seem moved by the scene. "Did you know him, Unicorn?"
"No. I never met him before today. My mother seems to have known him a long time ago. But I guess, you could say... he was a friend of mine."
9/19/2014
