"The Silk Tigers"
May. 20th, 2022 12:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"The Silk Tigers"
7/12-7/17/2014
I.
It looked like there was going to be a thunderstorm at any minute as Bane pulled into the little strip mall near the northern end of Manhattan. Hot and muggy, with a sky filled by heavy black clouds, it was a July day that had people hoping for a storm to clear the air. Bane got out of his Subaru Outback near the cleared area near Snyder's Jewelers and showed his PI license to a uniformed officer before being allowed into the crime scene.
At fifty-seven, Jeremy Bane was still instantly recognizable with those grey eyes in a narrow face that had barely begun to line and which was still not jowly or any wider. He was still gaunt in the black outfit of slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket and he still moved quickly and decisively. More flecks of grey were showing in the short black hair, but anyone who had known him at twenty-one would think time had hardly passed for him.
Lt Montez resented this and frequently said so. In the dozen years he had worked unofficially with Bane, Montez had given up on trying to keep his weight down and his belly stuck out like a beachball. His hairline had retreated in defeat also, and he had eyeglasses he kept putting on and taking off as he struggled to accept their necessity.
"Hey," he said quietly. "You might be interested in this. Very neat smash and grab. Ever hear of the Silk Tigers?"
"Just a little," Bane admitted as he peered past Montez into the store. "European jewel thieves, supposed to be very good. Not really my area." He shook his head. "That's a lot of broken glass, lieutenant."
Montez stepped inside and motioned for Bane to join him. "The robbery took place an hour ago. The guy in the back giving a statement is Peter Snyder, the owner, son of the founder. No customers inside at the time of the crime. Listen to this. Three women in dark clothing ran in the store together. All masked, thin black gauze hoods they could see out of. Each one was holding a revolver in one hand and a small prospector's pickaxe in the other. One of them covered Snyder while the other two broke some of the display cases and scooped loot into pouches they had at their belts. They knew what they wanted. In less than a full minute, they were back out the door."
"They cased the place, then." Bane studied the scene thoughtfully. "One of them or a confederate must have been in here a few times. Any of them say anything?"
"Nope. They ran out and got in separate vehicles. A Dodge pick-up, a Toyota Camry and a Harley-Davidson motorcycle. All vehicles matching ones that had been stolen late last night. The perps scattered. Already, a State Trooper reports that the Toyota has been found abandoned near the Thruway entrance." Montez was grinning despite himself. "Looks like the Silk Tigers have come to America, Bane."
"Yeah," Bane admitted. "Any other employees in the store at the time?"
"No. Just the owner. Every Wednesday, the salesman who works the counters takes an hour extra to go pick up his daughter and drop her off at a class. So the Tigers have been studying the schedule of the people here." Montez was watching Bane closely. "You don't seem very interested."
Bane took a few more steps into the store, carefully not to disturb anything. "Hmm? Well I am semi-retired, lieutenant, you know that. And frankly, this has nothing to do with Midnight War. You've got a well-organized and professional bunch of thieves on the loose, but I don't see where it's in my territory."
"You ARE getting old, buddy. Ten years ago, the Dire Wolf I knew would have been on the trail already. So you're not going to investigate?" The hurt in Montez' voice was understated but genuine. He really was disappointed.
Bane did not seem to notice. Already, he was stepping back toward the doorway. "I don't know. From what I hear, no one has ever been killed in a Silk Tiger robbery, or even smacked over the head. How much was stolen?"
"Owner says $400,000 worth. Lots of stuff with gold settings, lots of gems that could be recut easily," Montez said unhappily. "Look, I know I call you in off the record and unofficially and all that, Bane. I know you take cases that are weird and mysterious because that's what you live for. I just thought, you know... three beautiful European jewel thieves coming to New York might interest you."
"I'll check with some of my sources," Bane told him. "I know a guy in Interpol who has been chasing the Silk Tigers for two years now. But honestly, Montez, this is the sort of crime the NYPD handles better than I ever could. There's just one strange thing I noticed."
"Yeah? What's that?"
Bane pointed at the floor near a broken display case. "One of them dropped that pill. I'm sure your boys have identified it and photographed it and are only leaving it there for the moment. But, come on.. one prescription pill was dropped on the floor after how careful they were? I think that's a false clue meant to send you the wrong way."
With a grin, Montez said, "That's the Dire Wolf I know."
II.
In a motel room off the highway in White Plain, Borjona Poznan finished applying blonde highlights and wrapped her hair in a towel. With her pale skin and dark blue eyes, she looked natural with a variety of hair colors but she had sworn never to go more than two months without letting it grow out its natural light brown. Borjona studied her face in the mirror over the sink critically. She knew in a detached way that she was beautiful, it had certainly been usefully thousands of times with the Tigers. But at forty, she was watching suspiciously for wrinkles and uneven skin tones that could detract from the tool that was her face. Nothing serious so far, she thought, but it was just a matter of time.
Walking back into the bedroom, tightening the sash on her white bathrobe, Borjona felt the usual weariness after a job as the adrenalin left her body. As always, everything had gone according to plan and rehearsals. She had handed the pouch of jewels, the pickaxe and gun to her specific courier even before she had switched from the stolen car to her own Fiat, which was waiting for her five miles from the robbery scene. As tense and controlled as she had been during the operation, as concerned about things going wrong, there had been no problems. She would not contact Hideko and Sylvia until the next day and they would not meet up again until the next job, tentatively six weeks in the future.
She felt as if she could sleep until then. Shrugging out of the bathrobe, Borjona revealed a slim, athletic body that looked like a teenager's. She always kept in peak condition, with a planned diet and lots of running. The Serbian woman pulled the blankets back on the bed and slipped under a single sheet but just before she could even close her eyes, the disposable cell phone on the nightstand chirped twice. Despite her flare of annoyance, she grabbed it. "Yes?"
"Hi," came the familiar voice of Sylvia. "How would you feel about an early supper?"
"In a week or so, maybe. My schedule is full," Borjona answered.
"No, tonight. I really have to talk to you. It's about your friend Oliver."
Borjona frowned. The word "Oliver" meant something crucial was up, and she knew Sylvia was too prudent to want a meeting right after an operation unless the matter was urgent. "Well, if you insist. I guess. I'll call you around five?"
"Good. It's not bad news, my dear, don't worry. Ciao."
"Caio," Borjona said even though the connection had been broken. What the hell could this be about? She took a second to set her phone's alarm to ring at ten to five, dropped it next to her and was instantly asleep.
Miles away in Times Square, Sylvia Giacomo pocketed her own phone and smiled up at the big dark skinned-man with pure white hair who loomed over her. "All set."
"Excellent," said Avathor.
III.
Leaving his car at the IMPERIAL GARAGE on 40th Street, Bane crossed over to Third Avenue and headed north a few blocks. He was vaguely annoyed with himself that he didn't feel any urgency about going after the Silk Tigers. What were they to him? His world revolved around the creatures of the night, the monsters and maniacs who came out in darkness to prey. Not lady jewel thieves.... As he reached 44th Street, though, he had relented in his mind. He had nothing else active at the moment and maybe it was time to step down a little and handle cases where he was not in immediate danger of being killed and eaten, or sacrificed with a stone knife to the Great Old Ones.
Ahead was the four-story yellow brick building which housed his office. He had just been there the day before after being in Greece for a week, so he had already caught up on his mail. The Dire Wolf went past the EMERGENCY ONE walk-in clinic which had just added a few rooms for minor injuries, past the stairs going up to the second floor and down the short hallway made by the side of the staircase and a wall. Here was a plain wooden door with a bronze plaque that read DIRE WOLF AGENCY-APPOINTMENTS ONLY with a phone number. Bane unlocked the outer door and closed it behind him. Idly he glanced around the tiny waiting room which was seldom used and then entered his office itself.
As he crossed over to drop into his chair behind the desk, he was mulling over what he knew about the Silk Tigers. They robbed only jewelry stores, which were certainly well insured and which passed the costs onto customers who were well-off enough to be buying diamonds in the first place. No murders, no one beat up or even threatened. It just didn't feel like anything he should be concerned with. Bane ran through the calls on his office phone and found the only one that seemed worth answering was from Bleak. He hit callback and a second later, the familiar sour voice snapped, "THERE you are!"
"Good to hear from you, too. What's up, buddy?"
"Someone has been seen in the metropolitan area," Bleak told him. "Someone you didn't expect to ever turn up again."
"What, are you keeping me in suspense? Who is it, Bleak?"
"Avathor."
The Dire Wolf sat, his boredom and disinterest dropping away instantly. Now his grey eyes were alert again and his voice sharp. "You're right. I thought the world was rid of him. Any details?"
"Not yet. A guy I know spotted him getting into a taxi down in the financial district. Yesterday at noon. Not much chance of a mistake." The old man snorted, "A guy six foot five, with dark brown skin and blue eyes and white hair that comes down to a point between his eyes? That description doesn't match too many people, you know?"
"No, I suppose not." Still holding the cordless phone, Bane got up and started pacing quickly around the office. "Avathor. Damn, I had crossed him off my list. Thanks, Bleak. I appreciate the call. Wait... do you know anything about the Silk Tigers?"
"Sure," the dry old voice said. "Top thieves. They must be millionaires by now. Some one said they are three beautiful women with a support team. Why, you going to Europe after them?"
"No. They seem to be operating up in White Plains right now. I was asked to chase them, but honestly Avathor is much bigger game. Okay, Bleak. You need anything?"
"Pair of new knees would be nice," the sour voice said. "Getting old is no fun."
As Bleak hung up, Bane continued circling the office. Five years earlier, Avathor had been abducted by the Castaway, whoever or whatever she really was, and taken to parts unknown. As time went by and he was not heard from again, Avathor was eventually considered to be gone for good. And Bane had been glad.
Avathor was an exiled Melgar, and his gift was that he could siphon off abilities from others and retain them himself for a while. The Gralic Leech. Normally, he operated in France, Germany, the Netherlands and once in a while Britain. The few times he had shown up in America, he had a big scheme underway. Bane stopped short. Avathor usually worked in Europe yet here he was being spotted in New York.
Like the Silk Tigers.
Too much for coincidence. The Dire Wolf went back to his desk and placed the phone in his charger. Suddenly he felt fully alive again for the first time in weeks. His head was clear and he realized he had been moping around the past few days. Montez had been right.
The Dire Wolf had not even taken his jacket off yet. He headed briskly toward the door with his predatory instincts fired up.
IV.
The Melgar exile came out of the motel bathroom with an unhappy expression. His distinctive shock of white hair was now dark brown, not quite black, and the sharp widow's peak had been trimmed and softened up to the hairline. He looked very different. Avathor seldom used disguises, mostly because of a vanity he did not admit. The pale blue eyes still stabbed out vividly from the sunburned face, though.
"I think you were right," he admitted. "I can walk around more freely now."
Sitting on the couch in the room she had taken at the Holiday Inn, Sylvia Giacomo stared at him warily. She was tall, with generous curves, and long glossy black hair that was now pinned up in a bun. Sylvia's dark eyes and classic Roman nose made her handsome rather than pretty; she had an almost regal look in the way she carried herself. Now she put down the newspaper and watched him. "Yes. Quite a difference. A pair of sunglasses will help, as well."
Well over six feet tall and massively built, Avathor was an imposing sight in any case. He was wearing tan slacks, black loafers and a black polo shirt that showed hard pectorals and biceps. His skin had been tanned so often and so deeply over the years that it looked a little damaged and dry. Now, he came over and sat down on the couch right next to Sylvia. "We will not be meeting your partners for hours yet," he said, bringing his face closer to hers.
The Silk Tiger met his gaze coldly. "Touch me and our deal is off. I've been clear about that! We are thieves, not prostitutes."
With a sigh, Avathor rose again. "I can't see where it would do any harm and we would both enjoy some fun in the afternoon. But have it your way. Very well. I will be back in a few hours." Seeing the dubious look on her face, he went on, "I have other projects beside the Wilde Opal." He left the room and strode angrily down the hallway with its subdued lighting and faint Muzak. Damn that woman. With that body and those lips, she could have made the hours pass very happily. But he did have other concerns. Avathor left through a side exit and went for the black Nissan he had leased before coming to New York City.
As he pulled out into traffic, the Melgar started opening his perception for gralic force. He had no powers at the moment, which always made him feel vulnerable and even anxious. Siphoning off all the force of the Castaway had taken years because he had been forced to wait until she was offguard. Killing her had been a joy, after the way she had kept him as a pet in that strange realm, but getting back to the real world had used up all the force he had taken from her.
The Melgar had managed to appear near a rundown cabin he kept in the forest near the Canadian border. Buried beneath its floorboards were suitcases filled with money, clothing, weapons, fake IDs and passports. He had another such stash just outside Paris and it had already been useful when he was on the run. Having thousands of dollars in his pockets was a comfort but he needed powers to feel really himself.
Avathor went into the parking lot of a mall and cruised slowly, eyes narrowed as he tried to be receptive. Few Humans had even the potential for gralic ability and the ones with powers developed enough to be useful to him were rare indeed. He parked his car and watched the crowds mill mindlessly about. Nothing. Finally, he pulled out again. This might be fruitless. In the past, Avathor had gone weeks before finding someone with gralic potential enough but he had always done so before losing whatever powers he had then possessed. Now, he was stronger and more resilient than a regular person because he was a Melgar, but that was not enough.
Driving down through Manhattan, the Gralic Leech saw a parking garage near Times Square and left his car there. Perhaps on foot, he might find some prey. He wandered aimlessly, pausing only once to grab a quick meal at an Italian restaurant. Or an American idea of Italian food, he decided once he was done. Back on 42nd Street, he began to feel like he was picking something up. Yes. Not far. He quickened his pace and his senses alerted him. There, sitting on a retaining wall and watching traffic, drinking a can of Red Bull, was a young black man in a maroon hooded sweatshirt and baggy jeans. He was wearing a baseball cap and mirrored sunglasses, and he glanced up as Avathor approached and stopped before him.
"Check it out," the youth said. "You got a problem, man?"
"Please to be excusing me," answered Avathor, putting an accent in his usually neutral voice. "I am new to your beautiful country and just want to have a good time." The Melgar showed a thick roll of twenties for a second, then sat down on the wall next to the man.
"Wooo. Well, maybe I CAN help you, I mean I ain't into anything freaky myself but I guess I could introduce... you.." His voice trailed off and he slumped up against the big Melgar, head sagging down as if asleep.
"Yes," Avathor gloated, "I'm sure you be a great help." Staying in contact with the victim, he began drawing lifeforce into his own body. This fool had no training, he realized after a moment, probably not even a hunch that he possessed untapped powers. Yet they were there. After a few minutes, the Melgar began to realize he had found something valuable. An image popped into his mind. Ice, ice so cold that mist rose from it into the muggy air.
V.
Three days went by with Bane doing nothing but standard investigative work. He visited Lt Montez to say he would be working on the Silk Tigers business and he called frequently for updates. Bane also told Montez to have police watching for Avathor, who was still wanted two murders and assorted felonies from the last time he had been in America five years previously. The Dire Wolf also interviewed the owner of Snyder's Jewelers, going over the same ground the police had already covered.
What he had hopes for was locating the taxi driver who had given Avathor a ride. Bane spread the word among drivers for that company that he would pay one thousand dollars cash to speak with the one who had picked up someone matching Avathor's description on September 10th. So far, no luck. He tracked down a few shady characters who had been associated with the Melgar in the past but got nothing from them.
Bane also had his own network of observers alerted. During his long career, he had rescued many people and helped many others, but he never accepted rewards. Instead, he asked that they call him if they saw anything weird or unexplainable. This had led to some of his most important cases, in fact, and now he contacted every observer who owed him. A few sightings of someone resembling Avathor turned out to be false.
On the fourth day since the Silk Tigers had struck, Jeremy Bane was in a foul mood such as he had seldom known. All the questioning and checking stories and consulting with the police was not what he was best at. Bane was competent as a detective but no genius, and he had a dismal feeling he had been wasting his time. At four o'clock on a sultry afternoon, he returned to his office and slammed with door behind him with a force that was quite unnecessary.
Grabbing a bottle of water from the waist-high refrigerator, he gulped half of it and threw himself down on the leather couch that stretched beneath the heavily curtained window. What was left to try? The KDF was in another realm with only Argent left behind, and although he had promised to call Bane as soon as the others returned, there was no telling when that would be. The Dire Wolf jumped up again and started pacing to burn off his excess energy.
His Link beeped and he pulled it from his belt. Once, these Trom devices had been incredibly advanced but Human smartphones had been catching up recently. Still, when they patched into the Verizon network, Links were untraceable. Bane managed to catch himself and not snap angrily when he answered. It was Citywide Cabs, one of the drivers wanted to talk to him about that thousand dollars. The man was going offduty in an hour. Agreeing to meet the man, Bane hung up and replaced the phone to the charger. Finally. He was out the door and almost running through the lobby in a second.
VI.
The suite at the Chapman overlooking Central Park West cost enough daily to make a down payment on a house, but Avathor thought luxury was worth expense. He was wealthy with other people's money anyway. The rich cream-colored rugs, the marble counters, a genuine Malbois hanging on the wall, and the French doors opening onto a balcony all made him feel at home. He had slept out in forests and swamps and deserts enough in his life.
Two of the Silk Tigers sat on the elegant off-white couch, while the third leaned back in a matching chair with her legs crossed demurely at the ankles. This was Hideko Suragiri, a tiny Japanese who looked about twelve but who was actually thirty-one. Wearing a luminous red silk dress, she sipped a glass of Chablis and glanced over at her partners on the couch. All three of the Silk Tigers knew each other so well they could communicate with a raised eyebrow or a barely perceptible shift of posture. She knew Sylvia and Borjana were not at ease with their host.
Avathor stood facing them, hands clasped at the small of his back. He wore a tailored suit of charcoal grey, with a solid black tie and white shirt, and his handmade Italian shoes gleamed. The big Melgar had kept his blond hair dyed a dark brown, with the dramatic widow's peak shaved back and he was less recognizable. The big Melgar placed a thick manila folder on the low coffee table next to Sylvia's knee.
"Here is everything you need to know about Winslow's home," he said. "I have been there several times and my memory is sharp. There is no friendship between Paul Winslow and myself, we are rivals in the Midnight War but there are times when we must negotiate."
Sylvia shook her head slowly. "You are asking us to break all the rules that have made us successful. We do our own research. It takes at least three weeks, and another week to plan the operation. One of us must meet this Winslow under a cover guise and judge how to carry out the job."
"We study the terrain. We set up a precise timetable. Every detail must be gone over, no matter how minute" added Borjona. "This is why we are still free."
"There is no time for that!" Avathor told her. "I must have that opal before the next full moon or it will go dormant again."
The Tigers exchanged tiny gestures, and finally Hideko spoke for the first time. "You were recommended to us, sir. You posted the appropriate amount of Euros to arrange this meeting. Our mutual connections vouch that you are not undercover police but in fact an established international operator. Yet you have told us little about yourself...?"
The giant smiled thinly. "You would not believe the truth. You would think I am delusional or lying. I am not one of you, I am not from any nation you know. I am a Melgar from Androval, from one of the oldest families of my Race." He went into the kitchenette and returned with a heavy object which he handed to Sylvia. "Examine this. Tell me what it is."
She shrugged and hefted the thing. "A cast iron frying pan. No sign of having ever been used, I would guess it was hanging on the wall as more ornament than anything else." She held up the pan and Avathor took it from her, dangling it as if it were weightless.
"Observe closely," he said and, with just slight effort, rolled the cast iron frying pan up into a tube as if it were a pancake. He dropped it on the carpet by his feet with a dull thud. "I am no Human man such as you are used to dealing with. You will carry out my plan without delay and then I can move on to other projects!"
The women gawked at the feat he had just casually performed and then rose in unison.
"Time for us to go, Mr Avathor," said Borjona, tugging down the short jacket of her businesslike outfit. "However you pulled that parlor trick, you have shown you are not a serious person we wish to deal with."
Avathor loomed up ominously in their way, open hands down by his side. His blue eyes moved over them. "I have not said you may leave."
"You don't have to," answered Sylvia just as a faint scratching noise sounded in the door to the suite. Seeing her look that way, everyone was watching as the door slammed inward and a gaunt man in black hurtled into the room. The long-barrelled Smith & Wesson 38 was already rising in the Dire Wolf's hand.
But Avathor did not have to move to strike with his stolen ability. As soon as he recognized his longtime enemy, the Gralic Leech siphoned heat away from Bane's body with a rush that sent a spiral of cold mist up into the air around the Dire Wolf. Covered with frost and comatose, Bane stiffened in mid-step and fell to the carpeting like a statue.
"Hah! I knew you would be interfering once again!" Avathor bellowed in a voice that rang out triumphantly. "And for the last time!" He spun to glare at the horrified Silk Tigers. "Do not move, any of you. I can freeze the water content of your bodies with a thought." The Melgar went to kneel over Bane and grunted approval.
"Still alive. I thought so. You Tel Shai knights are ridiculously hard to kill. Look, even now I see your eyes shift to watch me. Soon, you will struggle to move again. Perhaps an hour, maybe less." The Gralic Leech leaned closer and chuckled. "I am glad you are not dead yet, my old friend. I have always wanted to steal your speed and reflexes and now I shall."
The big Melgar rose and smiled at the three jewel thieves, who had watched the past few seconds with incomprehension. They stared at him as if he had two heads. Avathor said, "Very well, perhaps I will end our agreement, ladies. There are other thieves I can hire to steal the Purple Opal. But I will not end this night unsatisfied..."
Something in his voice, some expression in his eyes, made the Silk Tigers catch their breaths. Hideko said, "You can't mean..."
"Oh, but I do. I am a Melgar. You know don't know what that means but you will learn tonight. My appetites are greater than a Humans. Each of you will know the pleasure of my embrace in turn. Come, which will be first? Sylvia of the black hair and full lips, into that bedroom with you..."
The sharp nasty crack of a small caliber pistol echoed in that suite and Avathor's head twitched violently back. His left eye had been replaced by a bloody hole. Even as he started to fall, a second bullet plowed into the center of his face. The Melgarin are strong but they are as mortal as all flesh and blood. Avathor's gory mess of a face hid itself in the carpeting.
Lowering the 22 target pistol she had tucked into her waistband under the jacket, Borjona exhaled sharply. "I learned to shoot without hesitation back in Bosnia. Two soldiers thought they would have fun with a frightened thirteen-year old."
"Everyone thinks we Tigers have never killed anyone," Sylvia said lightly. "If they only knew...."
On the carpet not far from Avathor's corpse, Jeremy Bane groaned and stirred. One hand pressed down on the fibers under his face and he tried to push himself up, but could not quite do it. The frost was falling off him. Decades of Kumundu training and a tagra diet had elevated his healing factor beyond what medical science could explain. He coughed and sputtered, and finally managed to get up on hands and knees.
Borjona kept the small pistol in her hand, barrel up, as she studied him. "And who might you be, my friend?"
"An old enemy of Avathor. I've brought him to justice a few times." Bane coughed again and managed to prop himself up into a seated position. "Not as permanently as you seem to have done, though," he added.
"Are you a policeman?" asked Borjona with icy calm.
"Me? No. Licensed private detective. My name's Bane." He took a deep breath, feeling stronger every second and grabbed the couch to pull himself to his feet. "Whew. That cold blast almost finished me. Listen, I'll tell you what."
The Silk Tigers watched him with deep suspicion, Borjona still holding her pistol, and Bane said, "Drop the gun next to the body. You three take off. My story is that I tracked Avathor here, found the door open and the scene just like this. He has a reputation for forcing women. I think the police will reach the obvious conclusion that he was killed by someone he was trying to rape, who then fled the scene. Sound good?"
Hideko was trying not to smile. "Mr Bane. Do you know who we are?"
"You? No," the Dire Wolf lied. "My only interest is in Avathor and he's a closed file right now. I have no business with you ladies." Bane wiped his cold wet face with the back of a hand.
"Very well," Sylvia said. "I think your suggestion has merit. Come." She headed for the door with her two partners close behind her. As they stood in the doorway, Sylvia paused and smiled back at Bane, who was stretching and coming back to normal.
"The famous Dire Wolf," she whispered. "I have heard all about you. I honestly didn't think you were real. And I imagine you thought the same of the Silk Tigers." With that, she closed the door and Bane was left alone in the suite with the body of Avathor.
9/23/2014
7/12-7/17/2014
I.
It looked like there was going to be a thunderstorm at any minute as Bane pulled into the little strip mall near the northern end of Manhattan. Hot and muggy, with a sky filled by heavy black clouds, it was a July day that had people hoping for a storm to clear the air. Bane got out of his Subaru Outback near the cleared area near Snyder's Jewelers and showed his PI license to a uniformed officer before being allowed into the crime scene.
At fifty-seven, Jeremy Bane was still instantly recognizable with those grey eyes in a narrow face that had barely begun to line and which was still not jowly or any wider. He was still gaunt in the black outfit of slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket and he still moved quickly and decisively. More flecks of grey were showing in the short black hair, but anyone who had known him at twenty-one would think time had hardly passed for him.
Lt Montez resented this and frequently said so. In the dozen years he had worked unofficially with Bane, Montez had given up on trying to keep his weight down and his belly stuck out like a beachball. His hairline had retreated in defeat also, and he had eyeglasses he kept putting on and taking off as he struggled to accept their necessity.
"Hey," he said quietly. "You might be interested in this. Very neat smash and grab. Ever hear of the Silk Tigers?"
"Just a little," Bane admitted as he peered past Montez into the store. "European jewel thieves, supposed to be very good. Not really my area." He shook his head. "That's a lot of broken glass, lieutenant."
Montez stepped inside and motioned for Bane to join him. "The robbery took place an hour ago. The guy in the back giving a statement is Peter Snyder, the owner, son of the founder. No customers inside at the time of the crime. Listen to this. Three women in dark clothing ran in the store together. All masked, thin black gauze hoods they could see out of. Each one was holding a revolver in one hand and a small prospector's pickaxe in the other. One of them covered Snyder while the other two broke some of the display cases and scooped loot into pouches they had at their belts. They knew what they wanted. In less than a full minute, they were back out the door."
"They cased the place, then." Bane studied the scene thoughtfully. "One of them or a confederate must have been in here a few times. Any of them say anything?"
"Nope. They ran out and got in separate vehicles. A Dodge pick-up, a Toyota Camry and a Harley-Davidson motorcycle. All vehicles matching ones that had been stolen late last night. The perps scattered. Already, a State Trooper reports that the Toyota has been found abandoned near the Thruway entrance." Montez was grinning despite himself. "Looks like the Silk Tigers have come to America, Bane."
"Yeah," Bane admitted. "Any other employees in the store at the time?"
"No. Just the owner. Every Wednesday, the salesman who works the counters takes an hour extra to go pick up his daughter and drop her off at a class. So the Tigers have been studying the schedule of the people here." Montez was watching Bane closely. "You don't seem very interested."
Bane took a few more steps into the store, carefully not to disturb anything. "Hmm? Well I am semi-retired, lieutenant, you know that. And frankly, this has nothing to do with Midnight War. You've got a well-organized and professional bunch of thieves on the loose, but I don't see where it's in my territory."
"You ARE getting old, buddy. Ten years ago, the Dire Wolf I knew would have been on the trail already. So you're not going to investigate?" The hurt in Montez' voice was understated but genuine. He really was disappointed.
Bane did not seem to notice. Already, he was stepping back toward the doorway. "I don't know. From what I hear, no one has ever been killed in a Silk Tiger robbery, or even smacked over the head. How much was stolen?"
"Owner says $400,000 worth. Lots of stuff with gold settings, lots of gems that could be recut easily," Montez said unhappily. "Look, I know I call you in off the record and unofficially and all that, Bane. I know you take cases that are weird and mysterious because that's what you live for. I just thought, you know... three beautiful European jewel thieves coming to New York might interest you."
"I'll check with some of my sources," Bane told him. "I know a guy in Interpol who has been chasing the Silk Tigers for two years now. But honestly, Montez, this is the sort of crime the NYPD handles better than I ever could. There's just one strange thing I noticed."
"Yeah? What's that?"
Bane pointed at the floor near a broken display case. "One of them dropped that pill. I'm sure your boys have identified it and photographed it and are only leaving it there for the moment. But, come on.. one prescription pill was dropped on the floor after how careful they were? I think that's a false clue meant to send you the wrong way."
With a grin, Montez said, "That's the Dire Wolf I know."
II.
In a motel room off the highway in White Plain, Borjona Poznan finished applying blonde highlights and wrapped her hair in a towel. With her pale skin and dark blue eyes, she looked natural with a variety of hair colors but she had sworn never to go more than two months without letting it grow out its natural light brown. Borjona studied her face in the mirror over the sink critically. She knew in a detached way that she was beautiful, it had certainly been usefully thousands of times with the Tigers. But at forty, she was watching suspiciously for wrinkles and uneven skin tones that could detract from the tool that was her face. Nothing serious so far, she thought, but it was just a matter of time.
Walking back into the bedroom, tightening the sash on her white bathrobe, Borjona felt the usual weariness after a job as the adrenalin left her body. As always, everything had gone according to plan and rehearsals. She had handed the pouch of jewels, the pickaxe and gun to her specific courier even before she had switched from the stolen car to her own Fiat, which was waiting for her five miles from the robbery scene. As tense and controlled as she had been during the operation, as concerned about things going wrong, there had been no problems. She would not contact Hideko and Sylvia until the next day and they would not meet up again until the next job, tentatively six weeks in the future.
She felt as if she could sleep until then. Shrugging out of the bathrobe, Borjona revealed a slim, athletic body that looked like a teenager's. She always kept in peak condition, with a planned diet and lots of running. The Serbian woman pulled the blankets back on the bed and slipped under a single sheet but just before she could even close her eyes, the disposable cell phone on the nightstand chirped twice. Despite her flare of annoyance, she grabbed it. "Yes?"
"Hi," came the familiar voice of Sylvia. "How would you feel about an early supper?"
"In a week or so, maybe. My schedule is full," Borjona answered.
"No, tonight. I really have to talk to you. It's about your friend Oliver."
Borjona frowned. The word "Oliver" meant something crucial was up, and she knew Sylvia was too prudent to want a meeting right after an operation unless the matter was urgent. "Well, if you insist. I guess. I'll call you around five?"
"Good. It's not bad news, my dear, don't worry. Ciao."
"Caio," Borjona said even though the connection had been broken. What the hell could this be about? She took a second to set her phone's alarm to ring at ten to five, dropped it next to her and was instantly asleep.
Miles away in Times Square, Sylvia Giacomo pocketed her own phone and smiled up at the big dark skinned-man with pure white hair who loomed over her. "All set."
"Excellent," said Avathor.
III.
Leaving his car at the IMPERIAL GARAGE on 40th Street, Bane crossed over to Third Avenue and headed north a few blocks. He was vaguely annoyed with himself that he didn't feel any urgency about going after the Silk Tigers. What were they to him? His world revolved around the creatures of the night, the monsters and maniacs who came out in darkness to prey. Not lady jewel thieves.... As he reached 44th Street, though, he had relented in his mind. He had nothing else active at the moment and maybe it was time to step down a little and handle cases where he was not in immediate danger of being killed and eaten, or sacrificed with a stone knife to the Great Old Ones.
Ahead was the four-story yellow brick building which housed his office. He had just been there the day before after being in Greece for a week, so he had already caught up on his mail. The Dire Wolf went past the EMERGENCY ONE walk-in clinic which had just added a few rooms for minor injuries, past the stairs going up to the second floor and down the short hallway made by the side of the staircase and a wall. Here was a plain wooden door with a bronze plaque that read DIRE WOLF AGENCY-APPOINTMENTS ONLY with a phone number. Bane unlocked the outer door and closed it behind him. Idly he glanced around the tiny waiting room which was seldom used and then entered his office itself.
As he crossed over to drop into his chair behind the desk, he was mulling over what he knew about the Silk Tigers. They robbed only jewelry stores, which were certainly well insured and which passed the costs onto customers who were well-off enough to be buying diamonds in the first place. No murders, no one beat up or even threatened. It just didn't feel like anything he should be concerned with. Bane ran through the calls on his office phone and found the only one that seemed worth answering was from Bleak. He hit callback and a second later, the familiar sour voice snapped, "THERE you are!"
"Good to hear from you, too. What's up, buddy?"
"Someone has been seen in the metropolitan area," Bleak told him. "Someone you didn't expect to ever turn up again."
"What, are you keeping me in suspense? Who is it, Bleak?"
"Avathor."
The Dire Wolf sat, his boredom and disinterest dropping away instantly. Now his grey eyes were alert again and his voice sharp. "You're right. I thought the world was rid of him. Any details?"
"Not yet. A guy I know spotted him getting into a taxi down in the financial district. Yesterday at noon. Not much chance of a mistake." The old man snorted, "A guy six foot five, with dark brown skin and blue eyes and white hair that comes down to a point between his eyes? That description doesn't match too many people, you know?"
"No, I suppose not." Still holding the cordless phone, Bane got up and started pacing quickly around the office. "Avathor. Damn, I had crossed him off my list. Thanks, Bleak. I appreciate the call. Wait... do you know anything about the Silk Tigers?"
"Sure," the dry old voice said. "Top thieves. They must be millionaires by now. Some one said they are three beautiful women with a support team. Why, you going to Europe after them?"
"No. They seem to be operating up in White Plains right now. I was asked to chase them, but honestly Avathor is much bigger game. Okay, Bleak. You need anything?"
"Pair of new knees would be nice," the sour voice said. "Getting old is no fun."
As Bleak hung up, Bane continued circling the office. Five years earlier, Avathor had been abducted by the Castaway, whoever or whatever she really was, and taken to parts unknown. As time went by and he was not heard from again, Avathor was eventually considered to be gone for good. And Bane had been glad.
Avathor was an exiled Melgar, and his gift was that he could siphon off abilities from others and retain them himself for a while. The Gralic Leech. Normally, he operated in France, Germany, the Netherlands and once in a while Britain. The few times he had shown up in America, he had a big scheme underway. Bane stopped short. Avathor usually worked in Europe yet here he was being spotted in New York.
Like the Silk Tigers.
Too much for coincidence. The Dire Wolf went back to his desk and placed the phone in his charger. Suddenly he felt fully alive again for the first time in weeks. His head was clear and he realized he had been moping around the past few days. Montez had been right.
The Dire Wolf had not even taken his jacket off yet. He headed briskly toward the door with his predatory instincts fired up.
IV.
The Melgar exile came out of the motel bathroom with an unhappy expression. His distinctive shock of white hair was now dark brown, not quite black, and the sharp widow's peak had been trimmed and softened up to the hairline. He looked very different. Avathor seldom used disguises, mostly because of a vanity he did not admit. The pale blue eyes still stabbed out vividly from the sunburned face, though.
"I think you were right," he admitted. "I can walk around more freely now."
Sitting on the couch in the room she had taken at the Holiday Inn, Sylvia Giacomo stared at him warily. She was tall, with generous curves, and long glossy black hair that was now pinned up in a bun. Sylvia's dark eyes and classic Roman nose made her handsome rather than pretty; she had an almost regal look in the way she carried herself. Now she put down the newspaper and watched him. "Yes. Quite a difference. A pair of sunglasses will help, as well."
Well over six feet tall and massively built, Avathor was an imposing sight in any case. He was wearing tan slacks, black loafers and a black polo shirt that showed hard pectorals and biceps. His skin had been tanned so often and so deeply over the years that it looked a little damaged and dry. Now, he came over and sat down on the couch right next to Sylvia. "We will not be meeting your partners for hours yet," he said, bringing his face closer to hers.
The Silk Tiger met his gaze coldly. "Touch me and our deal is off. I've been clear about that! We are thieves, not prostitutes."
With a sigh, Avathor rose again. "I can't see where it would do any harm and we would both enjoy some fun in the afternoon. But have it your way. Very well. I will be back in a few hours." Seeing the dubious look on her face, he went on, "I have other projects beside the Wilde Opal." He left the room and strode angrily down the hallway with its subdued lighting and faint Muzak. Damn that woman. With that body and those lips, she could have made the hours pass very happily. But he did have other concerns. Avathor left through a side exit and went for the black Nissan he had leased before coming to New York City.
As he pulled out into traffic, the Melgar started opening his perception for gralic force. He had no powers at the moment, which always made him feel vulnerable and even anxious. Siphoning off all the force of the Castaway had taken years because he had been forced to wait until she was offguard. Killing her had been a joy, after the way she had kept him as a pet in that strange realm, but getting back to the real world had used up all the force he had taken from her.
The Melgar had managed to appear near a rundown cabin he kept in the forest near the Canadian border. Buried beneath its floorboards were suitcases filled with money, clothing, weapons, fake IDs and passports. He had another such stash just outside Paris and it had already been useful when he was on the run. Having thousands of dollars in his pockets was a comfort but he needed powers to feel really himself.
Avathor went into the parking lot of a mall and cruised slowly, eyes narrowed as he tried to be receptive. Few Humans had even the potential for gralic ability and the ones with powers developed enough to be useful to him were rare indeed. He parked his car and watched the crowds mill mindlessly about. Nothing. Finally, he pulled out again. This might be fruitless. In the past, Avathor had gone weeks before finding someone with gralic potential enough but he had always done so before losing whatever powers he had then possessed. Now, he was stronger and more resilient than a regular person because he was a Melgar, but that was not enough.
Driving down through Manhattan, the Gralic Leech saw a parking garage near Times Square and left his car there. Perhaps on foot, he might find some prey. He wandered aimlessly, pausing only once to grab a quick meal at an Italian restaurant. Or an American idea of Italian food, he decided once he was done. Back on 42nd Street, he began to feel like he was picking something up. Yes. Not far. He quickened his pace and his senses alerted him. There, sitting on a retaining wall and watching traffic, drinking a can of Red Bull, was a young black man in a maroon hooded sweatshirt and baggy jeans. He was wearing a baseball cap and mirrored sunglasses, and he glanced up as Avathor approached and stopped before him.
"Check it out," the youth said. "You got a problem, man?"
"Please to be excusing me," answered Avathor, putting an accent in his usually neutral voice. "I am new to your beautiful country and just want to have a good time." The Melgar showed a thick roll of twenties for a second, then sat down on the wall next to the man.
"Wooo. Well, maybe I CAN help you, I mean I ain't into anything freaky myself but I guess I could introduce... you.." His voice trailed off and he slumped up against the big Melgar, head sagging down as if asleep.
"Yes," Avathor gloated, "I'm sure you be a great help." Staying in contact with the victim, he began drawing lifeforce into his own body. This fool had no training, he realized after a moment, probably not even a hunch that he possessed untapped powers. Yet they were there. After a few minutes, the Melgar began to realize he had found something valuable. An image popped into his mind. Ice, ice so cold that mist rose from it into the muggy air.
V.
Three days went by with Bane doing nothing but standard investigative work. He visited Lt Montez to say he would be working on the Silk Tigers business and he called frequently for updates. Bane also told Montez to have police watching for Avathor, who was still wanted two murders and assorted felonies from the last time he had been in America five years previously. The Dire Wolf also interviewed the owner of Snyder's Jewelers, going over the same ground the police had already covered.
What he had hopes for was locating the taxi driver who had given Avathor a ride. Bane spread the word among drivers for that company that he would pay one thousand dollars cash to speak with the one who had picked up someone matching Avathor's description on September 10th. So far, no luck. He tracked down a few shady characters who had been associated with the Melgar in the past but got nothing from them.
Bane also had his own network of observers alerted. During his long career, he had rescued many people and helped many others, but he never accepted rewards. Instead, he asked that they call him if they saw anything weird or unexplainable. This had led to some of his most important cases, in fact, and now he contacted every observer who owed him. A few sightings of someone resembling Avathor turned out to be false.
On the fourth day since the Silk Tigers had struck, Jeremy Bane was in a foul mood such as he had seldom known. All the questioning and checking stories and consulting with the police was not what he was best at. Bane was competent as a detective but no genius, and he had a dismal feeling he had been wasting his time. At four o'clock on a sultry afternoon, he returned to his office and slammed with door behind him with a force that was quite unnecessary.
Grabbing a bottle of water from the waist-high refrigerator, he gulped half of it and threw himself down on the leather couch that stretched beneath the heavily curtained window. What was left to try? The KDF was in another realm with only Argent left behind, and although he had promised to call Bane as soon as the others returned, there was no telling when that would be. The Dire Wolf jumped up again and started pacing to burn off his excess energy.
His Link beeped and he pulled it from his belt. Once, these Trom devices had been incredibly advanced but Human smartphones had been catching up recently. Still, when they patched into the Verizon network, Links were untraceable. Bane managed to catch himself and not snap angrily when he answered. It was Citywide Cabs, one of the drivers wanted to talk to him about that thousand dollars. The man was going offduty in an hour. Agreeing to meet the man, Bane hung up and replaced the phone to the charger. Finally. He was out the door and almost running through the lobby in a second.
VI.
The suite at the Chapman overlooking Central Park West cost enough daily to make a down payment on a house, but Avathor thought luxury was worth expense. He was wealthy with other people's money anyway. The rich cream-colored rugs, the marble counters, a genuine Malbois hanging on the wall, and the French doors opening onto a balcony all made him feel at home. He had slept out in forests and swamps and deserts enough in his life.
Two of the Silk Tigers sat on the elegant off-white couch, while the third leaned back in a matching chair with her legs crossed demurely at the ankles. This was Hideko Suragiri, a tiny Japanese who looked about twelve but who was actually thirty-one. Wearing a luminous red silk dress, she sipped a glass of Chablis and glanced over at her partners on the couch. All three of the Silk Tigers knew each other so well they could communicate with a raised eyebrow or a barely perceptible shift of posture. She knew Sylvia and Borjana were not at ease with their host.
Avathor stood facing them, hands clasped at the small of his back. He wore a tailored suit of charcoal grey, with a solid black tie and white shirt, and his handmade Italian shoes gleamed. The big Melgar had kept his blond hair dyed a dark brown, with the dramatic widow's peak shaved back and he was less recognizable. The big Melgar placed a thick manila folder on the low coffee table next to Sylvia's knee.
"Here is everything you need to know about Winslow's home," he said. "I have been there several times and my memory is sharp. There is no friendship between Paul Winslow and myself, we are rivals in the Midnight War but there are times when we must negotiate."
Sylvia shook her head slowly. "You are asking us to break all the rules that have made us successful. We do our own research. It takes at least three weeks, and another week to plan the operation. One of us must meet this Winslow under a cover guise and judge how to carry out the job."
"We study the terrain. We set up a precise timetable. Every detail must be gone over, no matter how minute" added Borjona. "This is why we are still free."
"There is no time for that!" Avathor told her. "I must have that opal before the next full moon or it will go dormant again."
The Tigers exchanged tiny gestures, and finally Hideko spoke for the first time. "You were recommended to us, sir. You posted the appropriate amount of Euros to arrange this meeting. Our mutual connections vouch that you are not undercover police but in fact an established international operator. Yet you have told us little about yourself...?"
The giant smiled thinly. "You would not believe the truth. You would think I am delusional or lying. I am not one of you, I am not from any nation you know. I am a Melgar from Androval, from one of the oldest families of my Race." He went into the kitchenette and returned with a heavy object which he handed to Sylvia. "Examine this. Tell me what it is."
She shrugged and hefted the thing. "A cast iron frying pan. No sign of having ever been used, I would guess it was hanging on the wall as more ornament than anything else." She held up the pan and Avathor took it from her, dangling it as if it were weightless.
"Observe closely," he said and, with just slight effort, rolled the cast iron frying pan up into a tube as if it were a pancake. He dropped it on the carpet by his feet with a dull thud. "I am no Human man such as you are used to dealing with. You will carry out my plan without delay and then I can move on to other projects!"
The women gawked at the feat he had just casually performed and then rose in unison.
"Time for us to go, Mr Avathor," said Borjona, tugging down the short jacket of her businesslike outfit. "However you pulled that parlor trick, you have shown you are not a serious person we wish to deal with."
Avathor loomed up ominously in their way, open hands down by his side. His blue eyes moved over them. "I have not said you may leave."
"You don't have to," answered Sylvia just as a faint scratching noise sounded in the door to the suite. Seeing her look that way, everyone was watching as the door slammed inward and a gaunt man in black hurtled into the room. The long-barrelled Smith & Wesson 38 was already rising in the Dire Wolf's hand.
But Avathor did not have to move to strike with his stolen ability. As soon as he recognized his longtime enemy, the Gralic Leech siphoned heat away from Bane's body with a rush that sent a spiral of cold mist up into the air around the Dire Wolf. Covered with frost and comatose, Bane stiffened in mid-step and fell to the carpeting like a statue.
"Hah! I knew you would be interfering once again!" Avathor bellowed in a voice that rang out triumphantly. "And for the last time!" He spun to glare at the horrified Silk Tigers. "Do not move, any of you. I can freeze the water content of your bodies with a thought." The Melgar went to kneel over Bane and grunted approval.
"Still alive. I thought so. You Tel Shai knights are ridiculously hard to kill. Look, even now I see your eyes shift to watch me. Soon, you will struggle to move again. Perhaps an hour, maybe less." The Gralic Leech leaned closer and chuckled. "I am glad you are not dead yet, my old friend. I have always wanted to steal your speed and reflexes and now I shall."
The big Melgar rose and smiled at the three jewel thieves, who had watched the past few seconds with incomprehension. They stared at him as if he had two heads. Avathor said, "Very well, perhaps I will end our agreement, ladies. There are other thieves I can hire to steal the Purple Opal. But I will not end this night unsatisfied..."
Something in his voice, some expression in his eyes, made the Silk Tigers catch their breaths. Hideko said, "You can't mean..."
"Oh, but I do. I am a Melgar. You know don't know what that means but you will learn tonight. My appetites are greater than a Humans. Each of you will know the pleasure of my embrace in turn. Come, which will be first? Sylvia of the black hair and full lips, into that bedroom with you..."
The sharp nasty crack of a small caliber pistol echoed in that suite and Avathor's head twitched violently back. His left eye had been replaced by a bloody hole. Even as he started to fall, a second bullet plowed into the center of his face. The Melgarin are strong but they are as mortal as all flesh and blood. Avathor's gory mess of a face hid itself in the carpeting.
Lowering the 22 target pistol she had tucked into her waistband under the jacket, Borjona exhaled sharply. "I learned to shoot without hesitation back in Bosnia. Two soldiers thought they would have fun with a frightened thirteen-year old."
"Everyone thinks we Tigers have never killed anyone," Sylvia said lightly. "If they only knew...."
On the carpet not far from Avathor's corpse, Jeremy Bane groaned and stirred. One hand pressed down on the fibers under his face and he tried to push himself up, but could not quite do it. The frost was falling off him. Decades of Kumundu training and a tagra diet had elevated his healing factor beyond what medical science could explain. He coughed and sputtered, and finally managed to get up on hands and knees.
Borjona kept the small pistol in her hand, barrel up, as she studied him. "And who might you be, my friend?"
"An old enemy of Avathor. I've brought him to justice a few times." Bane coughed again and managed to prop himself up into a seated position. "Not as permanently as you seem to have done, though," he added.
"Are you a policeman?" asked Borjona with icy calm.
"Me? No. Licensed private detective. My name's Bane." He took a deep breath, feeling stronger every second and grabbed the couch to pull himself to his feet. "Whew. That cold blast almost finished me. Listen, I'll tell you what."
The Silk Tigers watched him with deep suspicion, Borjona still holding her pistol, and Bane said, "Drop the gun next to the body. You three take off. My story is that I tracked Avathor here, found the door open and the scene just like this. He has a reputation for forcing women. I think the police will reach the obvious conclusion that he was killed by someone he was trying to rape, who then fled the scene. Sound good?"
Hideko was trying not to smile. "Mr Bane. Do you know who we are?"
"You? No," the Dire Wolf lied. "My only interest is in Avathor and he's a closed file right now. I have no business with you ladies." Bane wiped his cold wet face with the back of a hand.
"Very well," Sylvia said. "I think your suggestion has merit. Come." She headed for the door with her two partners close behind her. As they stood in the doorway, Sylvia paused and smiled back at Bane, who was stretching and coming back to normal.
"The famous Dire Wolf," she whispered. "I have heard all about you. I honestly didn't think you were real. And I imagine you thought the same of the Silk Tigers." With that, she closed the door and Bane was left alone in the suite with the body of Avathor.
9/23/2014
