"Bad News Budo"
May. 21st, 2022 06:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Bad News Budo"
11/3/1979
I.
Toward the end of the class, when the students had finished sparring and were going through the long form in unison, Jeremy Bane came up the stairs and stood in the doorway. The Grange building was a meeting place for various civic groups most of the time, but on Tuesday and Friday nights the folding chairs and tables were put away. Hard mats were laid out along one wall, a large framed portrait of an elderly Japanese man was hung on the wall and a portable cassette player blared martial Asian music. It became a dojo.
Kneeling under the portrait, watching the twenty in the class do the long form as the senior student led them, was Sensei Vincent Colluchio. He was a tall, fit man in his early forties with a prominent jaw and watchful eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses. His gi was starched and spotless, his obi was black with one thin red stripe running its length. Like the students, he showed no sign of having noticed the stranger in the doorway.
Only twenty-two but so serious and intense that most people treated him as if he were a decade older, the young Dire Wolf stayed in the doorway and watched the class. At six foot even and one hundred and seventy pounds, he had the lean gaunt build of a runner and the black wardrobe of slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket added to the effect. But it was the eyes that caught everyone's attention. Under heavy dark brows, the cold grey eyes stabbed out at the world with suspicion that was like a challenge in itself. Even standing there quietly, arms folded, Bane seemed ominous.
Finally, the class was over and Sensei Calluchio gave final instructions to practice during the week, to wash their uniforms as soon as they got home, to think about what the art of Kujin-Ryu meant. He stood and bowed, all the students bowed in unison. Then the class bustled down the stairs to change back to their street clothes in the rooms on the first floor. Bane stepped aside to let them pass and now he was aware of Calluchio's disapproving stare.
The senior student was wiping sweat from his neck with a cloth. He was a wiry young Asian with shaggy thick hair and a flat face. Seeing this rather sinister looking stranger, he glanced inquiringly at his teacher.
"Stick around, Ken," Colluchio said quietly. Facing Bane, he asked, "What brings you to my class, son?"
Bane moved into the dojo, coming almost within reach of the sensei. "A couple of things. First, there's the way Sifu Yuan was injured. I just came from the ICU where he's going to be for a few more days."
"It was a fair fight," Colluchio answered angrily. "He didn't want me teaching next door to his own school. He challenged and I accepted. That's all there is to it."
"Really? I don't think so. Sifu Yuan was getting old but he was still skilled. Somehow you beat him senseless and left him with a severe concussion. The doctors are worried."
Sensei Colluchio studied his visitor. "And your connection with Yuan would be..?"
"He taught me some Black Mantis a few years ago. All I knew was Western boxing and street brawling. Even though we parted on bads terms, the Sifu was kind enough to take me in when he had only taught Chinese before. So I owe him something." Bane's pale eyes were fixed on Colluchio like a predator ready to pounce. "But actually, I was already preparing to talk to you about the smuggling."
Now the senior student started to protest, but the Sensei placed a hand on his arm. "Quiet. Go on, whoever you are."
"My name is Bane. Jeremy Bane. I'm looking into the smuggling of prohibited items into this country. Rhino horn. Tiger blood. Panda glands. It's not just that it's illegal to bring them here, it's what your boss does with them that concerns me." The Dire Wolf's voice had slowly gotten an edge to it. "These are ingredients for Fang Shih, the forbidden Alchemy. And the only man in America who is expert in that Alchemy is the one who pays you well to smuggle these items."
Colluchio removed his glasses, folded them and placed them on the window ledge behind him. He said nothing.
"You're working for Wu Lung, the Dragon of War. That makes your activities Midnight War, and that means you're my target." Bane held out an open hand, palm up. "I've heard rumors about you and your Kujin-Ryu style. The Bad News Budo, your school is called. You yourself are supposed to be a phenomenon in full contact. Look, I'm armed. No martial artist can beat a Smith & Wesson, let's be serious. But because of how you treated Sifu Yuan, I'm going to let you put a fight. I'm taking you into custody to bring you to NYPD headquarters. Do you feel like resisting?"
For an answer, Colluchio walked over to the center of the open room and dropped into a ready stance, weight on his foreward leg, left arm down in front of him and right fist up by his chest. He exhaled harshly and waited.
With the faintest of smiles, Bane strode over toward him. True, he had only had two months of Kumundu training at Tel Shai and Teacher Chael had warned him not to overestimate the value of that... a little knowledge could leave a fighter more vulnerable than none. But the Dire Wolf had been in one desperate struggle after another since childhood and he had sublime confidence in himself. It was his innate enhanced reflexes, twice as fast as the Human norm, that had always given him a decisive advantage.
Lunging in fast, he feinted with his right fist and whipped out a blurringly quick left cross instantly after it. But something went wrong. Colluchio ignored the feint, swayed just enough to let the other blow whiz past him and blasted his own short straight forefist that caught Bane squarely in the face. Surprised beyond words, the Dire Wolf reeled back a step and his defenses faltered. The Sensei followed with a high side kick to the torso that drove the breath out of Bane and knocked him back off his feet.
Shocked at all this, the Dire Wolf rolled and leaped back up. What was going on here? No matter how much skill this man had, he was still only Human and should be easy to beat. Bane attacked with a flurry of alternating left-right blows to the body, but Colluchio had stepped back just enough to lessen their impact. At the final strike by Bane, the Sensei blocked down hard with the heel of his palm and immediately snapped that hand up in a backfist that crashed directly under his opponent's chin. Bane backpedaled, fists raised defensively. He was starting to understand.
The two men circled each other, testing with preliminary moves, drawing closer. Bane spun on one heel, his other leg whipping around in a reverse roundhouse kick- and Colluchio caught that foot deftly, raised his arm and threw his opponent off-balance to the floor. In the second he was exposed, Bane took a vicious downward stomp to the stomach that brought bile up in his throat. The Dire Wolf got over and up on hands and toes, rising, but the Sensei threw a front snap kick that swung his head as far back as it could go without his neck breaking.
As Colluchio raised his foot again, the Dire Wolf somehow shoved it aside and managed to get back up on his feet. Everything hurt but he ignored that. As the Sensei got his balance, Bane came at him with a blindingly fast left hook but amazingly, it missed. Colluchio had started to dodge even before the blow was struck. In close,the Sensei crashed a brutal elbow strike to the throat and, as Bane was gagging, Colluchio seized his opponent and flung him through the open door and down the stairs. The thumping as he crashed headlong to the ground floor below echoed up the stairwell.
Sensei Colluchio and his student exchanged sour glances. This man knew too much. They headed for the door to go down and finish him. Standing on the landing, both men froze in disbelief. There was no body at the bottom of the stairs.
II.
Only a few blocks away, a dark green Chevy Malibu pulled over to the curb. This was a residential neighborhood in Flushing and the house alongside him had darkened windows. Behind the wheel, Jeremy Bane caught his breath and rubbed his aching chest gingerly. He hadn't taken a beating like that in years but at least he had figured out how his enemy had done it. Forcing himself to breathe deeply and slowly, he got some of his rage to die down. Like the other KDF members, he had only been on the tagra tea diet for a few months and its effects were just starting to manifest themselves. Soon, he and his teammates would have accelerated healing abilities that would let them bounce back from even severe injuries. Or so the Teachers had promised. So far he hadn't noticed anything other than a general sense of well-being.
Feeling ready to drive, the Dire Wolf eased back into traffic and headed back toward Manhattan. How to deal with Colluchio? There must be a way. It was nine-thirty when he reached East 38th Street. Hawk's beat-up Jeep Cherokee was parking in front of the KDF building. He swung left on Lexington and made a turn into the dead-end alley next to headquarters. The steel barrier rose at a signal from the dash of the Chevy, Bane made a sharp left turn and rolled slowly down a concrete ramp to stop in the small underground garage. There was barely enough room for another car but Cindy had the Mustang upstate visiting her family. The Dire Wolf got out from behind the wheel, a bit stiffly, and made his way from the garage down a narrow passageway and up concrete steps. He emerged through a panel in the rear of the walk-in closet in the front hall.
Across from where he stood, the door to the reception room stood open. He went in, flicking on the lights as he entered, and lowered himself painfully to the wide leather couch that was up against the wall facing the door. Bane probed his chest and ribs carefully, decided he didn't have anything broken and sat up a little straighter. He wanted desperately to get back on Colluchio's trail and get a return match but first he needed a plan. The Dire Wolf drummed the fingers of one hand on the arm of the couch.
"Thunder, you've looked better," came the flat Montana accent from the doorway. Michael Hawk strode in and bent over to peer at Bane with experienced eyes. Nearing sixty, the famous manhunter looked more weathered and leathery than ever. That wide face with its Blackfoot ancestry had deep creases in the cheeks and lines at the corners of the dark eyes. Hawk's hair was still full and unthinned, but there was plenty of grey in it. He was wearing boots, jeans and a red flannel work shirt. In his hand was a half-eaten roast beef sandwich packed with enough meat to make a second one.
"I came up against an opponent with an unexplained power," Bane answered, uncomfortable at being examined. "Get off me, Mike, I'm fine."
Hawk snorted. "Your chin is gonna be purple for a few days, Jeremy. To be honest, I didn't think anyone Human could tag you like that."
Bane sighed and told his teammate every detail of what had happened, being as accurate as he could. This was part of the training Hawk was helping him with. Finally, he said, "I made it to the Chevy and drove back here. I only sat down two or three minutes before you popped in."
"You're getting real good at relating events," Hawk said. "Every word of conversations, details of what people were wearing. I think you'll be ready to run your own PI agency right soon. But you haven't told me the real important detail. How come this bird was able to handle you that way? Karate's good but it's not magic and I've seen you fight."
"I've been thinking about it. I figure he has some low-level telepathy. He might not even be consciously aware of it. Colluchio knows exactly what his opponent is going to do as soon as the thought forms, and this gives him the advantage. He's already moving to block or strike back when the attack is just being launched. I'm fast, you know that, but it's not enough when he is starting to counter me a split-second before I move."
"The Bad New Budo boys again. I know Colluchio has a reputation in full contact matches." Michael Hawk pulled one of the straightbacked wooden chairs over and sat down facing Bane. He took a substantial bite of his sandwich and chewed it slowly before speaking. "How far does this ability of his extend?"
"Beats me. We were in the same room. I can't say if he could detect an attack from any distance. Maybe."
Hawk said. "Can't be sure what would work. If he's actually reading your mind subconsciously, he might pick up on anything. Same for setting a trap. If you know about it, he'll most likely know about it, too."
"This is tricky," Bane agreed sullenly. "Damn. It's too bad Cindy's upstate, maybe she could put a block in my mind that would hide what I'm thinking."
"Yeah. Let me think a minute." The manhunter finished his sandwich and sat in silence. Then, just as Bane was about to speak, Hawk snapped his fingers. "Got it. Or I reckon I do. Tell you what, give me maybe fifteen minutes to do some preparation. You can't know about it. You're always starving, go get something in the kitchen and I'll come get you when I'm ready."
"Sounds good to me," Bane said as he stood up. "I'll be honest, Mike, I wasn't getting any inspiration." The Dire Wolf went out in the hall and down to the kitchen at the far end. Dark wood and stainless steel greeted him as he turned on the lights. In the refrigerator was a big casserole bowl of macaroni and cheese with hamburger and chopped onions cooked into it. Bane scooped half of it onto a plate, added a little olive oil to keep it from drying out and warmed it in the microwave. He was in fact always ravenous. The price for his enhanced speed was a metabolism that burned calories like a blast furnace. He dug in eagerly.
When he was almost done, Bane thought to get a handful of dark green dried leaves from a canister and crumble them into a mug of hot water. A sharp minty aroma filled the kitchen. He sipped the tagra tea and felt the aching where he had been beaten fade away. Maybe some of that was psychological but he accepted it. Tagra was only available from the Order of Tel Shai. Access to it was a major reason why being accepted as a knight was so prized. He finished the tea and the food, rinsed everything off in the sink and put the mug and plate in a rack to dry. Now he was back to normal and eager to get started again. If Colluchio had been in that building, he would have tackled the man instantly.
Opening the door, Michael Hawk gave his crooked grin. "Yeah, you look a mite better. Come on in the reception room, eh?"
Going with his teammate, Bane wondered what the older man had worked up but he didn't see anything. He turned around quizzically.
The manhunter was holding one of the anesthetic darts they used. "Listen up, son. Here's where you have to let me take over for a mite. I intend to jab you with this, then give you the antidote a few minutes later. It's because you can not know what the trick is or Collucchi will see it in your mind. Savvy?"
For a long moment, the Dire Wolf hesitated. Then he lowered himself into one of the chairs and tugged back his sleeve to present a wrist. "Okay, Mike. Go for it."
III.
At just after midnight, the Chevy Malibu slid into a spot at the far end of a strip mall in Jersey City, just across the river from lower Manhattan. There were four storefronts in that row, all of them closed now. A guitar and music store, a nail salon, a used furniture outlet and the RED ROSE Chinese restaurant. Each had a few inside lights burning for insurance purposes. Jeremy Bane got out from behind the wheel and closed the car door silently. He had driven past, waited ten minutes and then gone by from the opposite direction without spotting any sentries. Even now, he could not see any watchers.
The Dire Wolf was at the opposite end of the strip mall from the RED ROSE, and he stepped around the edge of the GUITAR WORLD store and watched motionless with only his head sticking past the brick wall. At the far end, a panel truck sat with its lights off by the rear door of the Chinese restaurant. Bane waited. All during the drive here, he had been wondering exactly what trick Hawk had arranged. There was a slight unaccustomed weight in the inside seam of his black sport jacket, less than a pound but enough for him to notice, and he had managed not to probe with his fingers to find out just what Hawk had sewn in there.
His best guess was that Hawk had inserted something in his jacket that would go off when struck. Tear gas, a dazzle flare, something like that. Probably, Hawk expected Bane to clash with Colluchio again and when the Sensei connected with a kick or punch, the gimmick would go off. That would put the man offguard and give Bane an advantage.
That was his conjecture, at any rate. Hawk had said he could not explain and had watched Bane go down to the basement garage with only a laconic, "Good luck, Jeremy."
The plain green metal door at the back of the RED ROSE had a light bulb in a glass cage at its top. As Bane watched, that door creaked open and a slightly built Asian man wearing black slacks and a white long-sleeved dress shirt peered out cautiously. The man stepped out next to the store's dumpster and motioned to the truck. A second later, Sensei Colluchio and his senior student climbed out of the panel truck. They had both changed into regular street clothing and wearing light jackets against the early November chill. Colluchio had his black-rimmed glasses on again.
As the student went around to the rear of the panel truck, Bane decided it was time to act. He was moving normally but with a twinge of pain here and there. Being young and in excellent condition was what let him keep going after a beating and a fall. The Dire Wolf swung around behind the strip mall and marched briskly toward where the men were standing as the Sensei caught sight of him.
"Well!" Colluchio chuckled. "You again. I thought you'd be out of the way for a while."
"I'm taking you and your accomplices there into custody," Bane said. "We'll stay here until the police arrive. They'll be interested in what you've got in that truck."
"Oh, I'm sure they would be. But that's not going to happen." The Sensei took off his glasses and tossed them onto the driver's seat of the truck, then walked toward Bane. At the rear of the truck, the student came around to watch. "You're not going to be in any condition to tell them about it."
As the two men neared each other, the Dire Wolf had decided he would try grappling. Even if this guy could tell what he was going to do, once they were locked in wrestling holds that wouldn't matter. Still, part of his mind could not help wondering just what Hawk had placed inside his jacket. What was the trick and would it work?
Colluchio hesitated. He had his right fist drawn back and his open left hand up to block when he stopped in mid-step. Bane could see the Sensei staring at that spot of the black sport jacket as if trying to see through the material. Colluchio froze, peering in the dim light and then abruptly gave a start and slapped at his neck.
"What the hell-" he began, plucking a thin metal needle from where it had stuck in his skin. That was as far as he got, the potent drug was already in his bloodstream. Almost instantly, his mind was foggy and disoriented. Within three seconds, he sagged to the ground and sighed as if falling into a contented sleep.
Despite the discomfort and tension, Bane smiled. Hawk. Of course, now he understood. As the old Chinese man started to go back in the store with the obvious intention of making a run for it, Bane lunged forward and grabbed him by the back of the shirt. "Oh no, you don't. You are going to wait here and answer all the questions the police officers have for you. Same for you back there, whatever your name is. You're in this mess with your sensei."
The senior student raised his hands uncertainly, trying to digest what had just happened. Coming out of the darkness behind him, Michael Hawk pushed the man up against the panel truck with one hand. In the other, the manhunter was holding one of the clunky air pistols which fired the KDF anesthetic darts. This one had an extended barrel for greater accuracy.
"You tricky old cowboy," Bane said with relief. "What exactly DID you put in my jacket?"
"Some gauze pads. Alcohol swabs. I got them from the first aid kit in the reception room and sewed them in your lapel while you were knocked out." Hawk's weathered face grinned and his eyes almost disappeared as they squinted. "Figured that was all that was needed."
"I was wondering if you put one of the little tear gas grenades in there. Or a dazzler." Bane finally let out a deep breath of relief. "Oh, I get it now. Collucchio there knew I thought there was something dangerous ready to explode and while he was trying to figure it out, you put a dart in his neck. Pretty sneaky, Mike."
Hawk shrugged. "You learn to be devious. It saves a lot of punching and chasing." He tapped the sleeping Sensei with the toe of his boot. "Time to call the police and close the Bad News Budo, eh?"
As he dug in his pocket for the Link, Bane winced at the twinge of pain across his shoulders. "Honestly, Mike, I'm glad I didn't have to slug it out again with that guy. Let the officers at the holding pen deal with him."
7/18/2015
11/3/1979
I.
Toward the end of the class, when the students had finished sparring and were going through the long form in unison, Jeremy Bane came up the stairs and stood in the doorway. The Grange building was a meeting place for various civic groups most of the time, but on Tuesday and Friday nights the folding chairs and tables were put away. Hard mats were laid out along one wall, a large framed portrait of an elderly Japanese man was hung on the wall and a portable cassette player blared martial Asian music. It became a dojo.
Kneeling under the portrait, watching the twenty in the class do the long form as the senior student led them, was Sensei Vincent Colluchio. He was a tall, fit man in his early forties with a prominent jaw and watchful eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses. His gi was starched and spotless, his obi was black with one thin red stripe running its length. Like the students, he showed no sign of having noticed the stranger in the doorway.
Only twenty-two but so serious and intense that most people treated him as if he were a decade older, the young Dire Wolf stayed in the doorway and watched the class. At six foot even and one hundred and seventy pounds, he had the lean gaunt build of a runner and the black wardrobe of slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket added to the effect. But it was the eyes that caught everyone's attention. Under heavy dark brows, the cold grey eyes stabbed out at the world with suspicion that was like a challenge in itself. Even standing there quietly, arms folded, Bane seemed ominous.
Finally, the class was over and Sensei Calluchio gave final instructions to practice during the week, to wash their uniforms as soon as they got home, to think about what the art of Kujin-Ryu meant. He stood and bowed, all the students bowed in unison. Then the class bustled down the stairs to change back to their street clothes in the rooms on the first floor. Bane stepped aside to let them pass and now he was aware of Calluchio's disapproving stare.
The senior student was wiping sweat from his neck with a cloth. He was a wiry young Asian with shaggy thick hair and a flat face. Seeing this rather sinister looking stranger, he glanced inquiringly at his teacher.
"Stick around, Ken," Colluchio said quietly. Facing Bane, he asked, "What brings you to my class, son?"
Bane moved into the dojo, coming almost within reach of the sensei. "A couple of things. First, there's the way Sifu Yuan was injured. I just came from the ICU where he's going to be for a few more days."
"It was a fair fight," Colluchio answered angrily. "He didn't want me teaching next door to his own school. He challenged and I accepted. That's all there is to it."
"Really? I don't think so. Sifu Yuan was getting old but he was still skilled. Somehow you beat him senseless and left him with a severe concussion. The doctors are worried."
Sensei Colluchio studied his visitor. "And your connection with Yuan would be..?"
"He taught me some Black Mantis a few years ago. All I knew was Western boxing and street brawling. Even though we parted on bads terms, the Sifu was kind enough to take me in when he had only taught Chinese before. So I owe him something." Bane's pale eyes were fixed on Colluchio like a predator ready to pounce. "But actually, I was already preparing to talk to you about the smuggling."
Now the senior student started to protest, but the Sensei placed a hand on his arm. "Quiet. Go on, whoever you are."
"My name is Bane. Jeremy Bane. I'm looking into the smuggling of prohibited items into this country. Rhino horn. Tiger blood. Panda glands. It's not just that it's illegal to bring them here, it's what your boss does with them that concerns me." The Dire Wolf's voice had slowly gotten an edge to it. "These are ingredients for Fang Shih, the forbidden Alchemy. And the only man in America who is expert in that Alchemy is the one who pays you well to smuggle these items."
Colluchio removed his glasses, folded them and placed them on the window ledge behind him. He said nothing.
"You're working for Wu Lung, the Dragon of War. That makes your activities Midnight War, and that means you're my target." Bane held out an open hand, palm up. "I've heard rumors about you and your Kujin-Ryu style. The Bad News Budo, your school is called. You yourself are supposed to be a phenomenon in full contact. Look, I'm armed. No martial artist can beat a Smith & Wesson, let's be serious. But because of how you treated Sifu Yuan, I'm going to let you put a fight. I'm taking you into custody to bring you to NYPD headquarters. Do you feel like resisting?"
For an answer, Colluchio walked over to the center of the open room and dropped into a ready stance, weight on his foreward leg, left arm down in front of him and right fist up by his chest. He exhaled harshly and waited.
With the faintest of smiles, Bane strode over toward him. True, he had only had two months of Kumundu training at Tel Shai and Teacher Chael had warned him not to overestimate the value of that... a little knowledge could leave a fighter more vulnerable than none. But the Dire Wolf had been in one desperate struggle after another since childhood and he had sublime confidence in himself. It was his innate enhanced reflexes, twice as fast as the Human norm, that had always given him a decisive advantage.
Lunging in fast, he feinted with his right fist and whipped out a blurringly quick left cross instantly after it. But something went wrong. Colluchio ignored the feint, swayed just enough to let the other blow whiz past him and blasted his own short straight forefist that caught Bane squarely in the face. Surprised beyond words, the Dire Wolf reeled back a step and his defenses faltered. The Sensei followed with a high side kick to the torso that drove the breath out of Bane and knocked him back off his feet.
Shocked at all this, the Dire Wolf rolled and leaped back up. What was going on here? No matter how much skill this man had, he was still only Human and should be easy to beat. Bane attacked with a flurry of alternating left-right blows to the body, but Colluchio had stepped back just enough to lessen their impact. At the final strike by Bane, the Sensei blocked down hard with the heel of his palm and immediately snapped that hand up in a backfist that crashed directly under his opponent's chin. Bane backpedaled, fists raised defensively. He was starting to understand.
The two men circled each other, testing with preliminary moves, drawing closer. Bane spun on one heel, his other leg whipping around in a reverse roundhouse kick- and Colluchio caught that foot deftly, raised his arm and threw his opponent off-balance to the floor. In the second he was exposed, Bane took a vicious downward stomp to the stomach that brought bile up in his throat. The Dire Wolf got over and up on hands and toes, rising, but the Sensei threw a front snap kick that swung his head as far back as it could go without his neck breaking.
As Colluchio raised his foot again, the Dire Wolf somehow shoved it aside and managed to get back up on his feet. Everything hurt but he ignored that. As the Sensei got his balance, Bane came at him with a blindingly fast left hook but amazingly, it missed. Colluchio had started to dodge even before the blow was struck. In close,the Sensei crashed a brutal elbow strike to the throat and, as Bane was gagging, Colluchio seized his opponent and flung him through the open door and down the stairs. The thumping as he crashed headlong to the ground floor below echoed up the stairwell.
Sensei Colluchio and his student exchanged sour glances. This man knew too much. They headed for the door to go down and finish him. Standing on the landing, both men froze in disbelief. There was no body at the bottom of the stairs.
II.
Only a few blocks away, a dark green Chevy Malibu pulled over to the curb. This was a residential neighborhood in Flushing and the house alongside him had darkened windows. Behind the wheel, Jeremy Bane caught his breath and rubbed his aching chest gingerly. He hadn't taken a beating like that in years but at least he had figured out how his enemy had done it. Forcing himself to breathe deeply and slowly, he got some of his rage to die down. Like the other KDF members, he had only been on the tagra tea diet for a few months and its effects were just starting to manifest themselves. Soon, he and his teammates would have accelerated healing abilities that would let them bounce back from even severe injuries. Or so the Teachers had promised. So far he hadn't noticed anything other than a general sense of well-being.
Feeling ready to drive, the Dire Wolf eased back into traffic and headed back toward Manhattan. How to deal with Colluchio? There must be a way. It was nine-thirty when he reached East 38th Street. Hawk's beat-up Jeep Cherokee was parking in front of the KDF building. He swung left on Lexington and made a turn into the dead-end alley next to headquarters. The steel barrier rose at a signal from the dash of the Chevy, Bane made a sharp left turn and rolled slowly down a concrete ramp to stop in the small underground garage. There was barely enough room for another car but Cindy had the Mustang upstate visiting her family. The Dire Wolf got out from behind the wheel, a bit stiffly, and made his way from the garage down a narrow passageway and up concrete steps. He emerged through a panel in the rear of the walk-in closet in the front hall.
Across from where he stood, the door to the reception room stood open. He went in, flicking on the lights as he entered, and lowered himself painfully to the wide leather couch that was up against the wall facing the door. Bane probed his chest and ribs carefully, decided he didn't have anything broken and sat up a little straighter. He wanted desperately to get back on Colluchio's trail and get a return match but first he needed a plan. The Dire Wolf drummed the fingers of one hand on the arm of the couch.
"Thunder, you've looked better," came the flat Montana accent from the doorway. Michael Hawk strode in and bent over to peer at Bane with experienced eyes. Nearing sixty, the famous manhunter looked more weathered and leathery than ever. That wide face with its Blackfoot ancestry had deep creases in the cheeks and lines at the corners of the dark eyes. Hawk's hair was still full and unthinned, but there was plenty of grey in it. He was wearing boots, jeans and a red flannel work shirt. In his hand was a half-eaten roast beef sandwich packed with enough meat to make a second one.
"I came up against an opponent with an unexplained power," Bane answered, uncomfortable at being examined. "Get off me, Mike, I'm fine."
Hawk snorted. "Your chin is gonna be purple for a few days, Jeremy. To be honest, I didn't think anyone Human could tag you like that."
Bane sighed and told his teammate every detail of what had happened, being as accurate as he could. This was part of the training Hawk was helping him with. Finally, he said, "I made it to the Chevy and drove back here. I only sat down two or three minutes before you popped in."
"You're getting real good at relating events," Hawk said. "Every word of conversations, details of what people were wearing. I think you'll be ready to run your own PI agency right soon. But you haven't told me the real important detail. How come this bird was able to handle you that way? Karate's good but it's not magic and I've seen you fight."
"I've been thinking about it. I figure he has some low-level telepathy. He might not even be consciously aware of it. Colluchio knows exactly what his opponent is going to do as soon as the thought forms, and this gives him the advantage. He's already moving to block or strike back when the attack is just being launched. I'm fast, you know that, but it's not enough when he is starting to counter me a split-second before I move."
"The Bad New Budo boys again. I know Colluchio has a reputation in full contact matches." Michael Hawk pulled one of the straightbacked wooden chairs over and sat down facing Bane. He took a substantial bite of his sandwich and chewed it slowly before speaking. "How far does this ability of his extend?"
"Beats me. We were in the same room. I can't say if he could detect an attack from any distance. Maybe."
Hawk said. "Can't be sure what would work. If he's actually reading your mind subconsciously, he might pick up on anything. Same for setting a trap. If you know about it, he'll most likely know about it, too."
"This is tricky," Bane agreed sullenly. "Damn. It's too bad Cindy's upstate, maybe she could put a block in my mind that would hide what I'm thinking."
"Yeah. Let me think a minute." The manhunter finished his sandwich and sat in silence. Then, just as Bane was about to speak, Hawk snapped his fingers. "Got it. Or I reckon I do. Tell you what, give me maybe fifteen minutes to do some preparation. You can't know about it. You're always starving, go get something in the kitchen and I'll come get you when I'm ready."
"Sounds good to me," Bane said as he stood up. "I'll be honest, Mike, I wasn't getting any inspiration." The Dire Wolf went out in the hall and down to the kitchen at the far end. Dark wood and stainless steel greeted him as he turned on the lights. In the refrigerator was a big casserole bowl of macaroni and cheese with hamburger and chopped onions cooked into it. Bane scooped half of it onto a plate, added a little olive oil to keep it from drying out and warmed it in the microwave. He was in fact always ravenous. The price for his enhanced speed was a metabolism that burned calories like a blast furnace. He dug in eagerly.
When he was almost done, Bane thought to get a handful of dark green dried leaves from a canister and crumble them into a mug of hot water. A sharp minty aroma filled the kitchen. He sipped the tagra tea and felt the aching where he had been beaten fade away. Maybe some of that was psychological but he accepted it. Tagra was only available from the Order of Tel Shai. Access to it was a major reason why being accepted as a knight was so prized. He finished the tea and the food, rinsed everything off in the sink and put the mug and plate in a rack to dry. Now he was back to normal and eager to get started again. If Colluchio had been in that building, he would have tackled the man instantly.
Opening the door, Michael Hawk gave his crooked grin. "Yeah, you look a mite better. Come on in the reception room, eh?"
Going with his teammate, Bane wondered what the older man had worked up but he didn't see anything. He turned around quizzically.
The manhunter was holding one of the anesthetic darts they used. "Listen up, son. Here's where you have to let me take over for a mite. I intend to jab you with this, then give you the antidote a few minutes later. It's because you can not know what the trick is or Collucchi will see it in your mind. Savvy?"
For a long moment, the Dire Wolf hesitated. Then he lowered himself into one of the chairs and tugged back his sleeve to present a wrist. "Okay, Mike. Go for it."
III.
At just after midnight, the Chevy Malibu slid into a spot at the far end of a strip mall in Jersey City, just across the river from lower Manhattan. There were four storefronts in that row, all of them closed now. A guitar and music store, a nail salon, a used furniture outlet and the RED ROSE Chinese restaurant. Each had a few inside lights burning for insurance purposes. Jeremy Bane got out from behind the wheel and closed the car door silently. He had driven past, waited ten minutes and then gone by from the opposite direction without spotting any sentries. Even now, he could not see any watchers.
The Dire Wolf was at the opposite end of the strip mall from the RED ROSE, and he stepped around the edge of the GUITAR WORLD store and watched motionless with only his head sticking past the brick wall. At the far end, a panel truck sat with its lights off by the rear door of the Chinese restaurant. Bane waited. All during the drive here, he had been wondering exactly what trick Hawk had arranged. There was a slight unaccustomed weight in the inside seam of his black sport jacket, less than a pound but enough for him to notice, and he had managed not to probe with his fingers to find out just what Hawk had sewn in there.
His best guess was that Hawk had inserted something in his jacket that would go off when struck. Tear gas, a dazzle flare, something like that. Probably, Hawk expected Bane to clash with Colluchio again and when the Sensei connected with a kick or punch, the gimmick would go off. That would put the man offguard and give Bane an advantage.
That was his conjecture, at any rate. Hawk had said he could not explain and had watched Bane go down to the basement garage with only a laconic, "Good luck, Jeremy."
The plain green metal door at the back of the RED ROSE had a light bulb in a glass cage at its top. As Bane watched, that door creaked open and a slightly built Asian man wearing black slacks and a white long-sleeved dress shirt peered out cautiously. The man stepped out next to the store's dumpster and motioned to the truck. A second later, Sensei Colluchio and his senior student climbed out of the panel truck. They had both changed into regular street clothing and wearing light jackets against the early November chill. Colluchio had his black-rimmed glasses on again.
As the student went around to the rear of the panel truck, Bane decided it was time to act. He was moving normally but with a twinge of pain here and there. Being young and in excellent condition was what let him keep going after a beating and a fall. The Dire Wolf swung around behind the strip mall and marched briskly toward where the men were standing as the Sensei caught sight of him.
"Well!" Colluchio chuckled. "You again. I thought you'd be out of the way for a while."
"I'm taking you and your accomplices there into custody," Bane said. "We'll stay here until the police arrive. They'll be interested in what you've got in that truck."
"Oh, I'm sure they would be. But that's not going to happen." The Sensei took off his glasses and tossed them onto the driver's seat of the truck, then walked toward Bane. At the rear of the truck, the student came around to watch. "You're not going to be in any condition to tell them about it."
As the two men neared each other, the Dire Wolf had decided he would try grappling. Even if this guy could tell what he was going to do, once they were locked in wrestling holds that wouldn't matter. Still, part of his mind could not help wondering just what Hawk had placed inside his jacket. What was the trick and would it work?
Colluchio hesitated. He had his right fist drawn back and his open left hand up to block when he stopped in mid-step. Bane could see the Sensei staring at that spot of the black sport jacket as if trying to see through the material. Colluchio froze, peering in the dim light and then abruptly gave a start and slapped at his neck.
"What the hell-" he began, plucking a thin metal needle from where it had stuck in his skin. That was as far as he got, the potent drug was already in his bloodstream. Almost instantly, his mind was foggy and disoriented. Within three seconds, he sagged to the ground and sighed as if falling into a contented sleep.
Despite the discomfort and tension, Bane smiled. Hawk. Of course, now he understood. As the old Chinese man started to go back in the store with the obvious intention of making a run for it, Bane lunged forward and grabbed him by the back of the shirt. "Oh no, you don't. You are going to wait here and answer all the questions the police officers have for you. Same for you back there, whatever your name is. You're in this mess with your sensei."
The senior student raised his hands uncertainly, trying to digest what had just happened. Coming out of the darkness behind him, Michael Hawk pushed the man up against the panel truck with one hand. In the other, the manhunter was holding one of the clunky air pistols which fired the KDF anesthetic darts. This one had an extended barrel for greater accuracy.
"You tricky old cowboy," Bane said with relief. "What exactly DID you put in my jacket?"
"Some gauze pads. Alcohol swabs. I got them from the first aid kit in the reception room and sewed them in your lapel while you were knocked out." Hawk's weathered face grinned and his eyes almost disappeared as they squinted. "Figured that was all that was needed."
"I was wondering if you put one of the little tear gas grenades in there. Or a dazzler." Bane finally let out a deep breath of relief. "Oh, I get it now. Collucchio there knew I thought there was something dangerous ready to explode and while he was trying to figure it out, you put a dart in his neck. Pretty sneaky, Mike."
Hawk shrugged. "You learn to be devious. It saves a lot of punching and chasing." He tapped the sleeping Sensei with the toe of his boot. "Time to call the police and close the Bad News Budo, eh?"
As he dug in his pocket for the Link, Bane winced at the twinge of pain across his shoulders. "Honestly, Mike, I'm glad I didn't have to slug it out again with that guy. Let the officers at the holding pen deal with him."
7/18/2015
