"Mercurio's Last Heist"
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dochermes"Mercurio's Last Heist"
9/22-9/24/1998
I.
At one in the morning, a thin man dressed all in black froze with one sneakered foot on the edge of the hotel roof. Coming almost within reach, a second man also all in black had emerged from the shadows. Mercurio was outraged. He would have sworn there was no one living who could have gotten that close to him without being detected. The great thief's pride was stung.
In the faint backwash from the street lights far below, the white flecks in his goatee and pointed mustache could just be seen, and the black wool cap hid the receding hairline. In his black tights, Mercurio still showed the nimble body of an acrobat. Over one shoulder was a small bag with a drawstring, and he was playing out a black silk cord he had fastened to a vent pipe protruding on the roof. Frozen motionless, he watched the stranger calmly approach.
"I was hoping you wouldn't show up in Manhattan again," said the newcomer. He was the same height and build as Mercurio, but wearing slacks, a turtleneck and sportjacket all in black. Just beyond arm's reach, he paused and regarded the master thief with pale watchful eyes.
It was those eyes that triggered memories. "Oh really," the great thief laughed. "More than twenty years have passed and that is how the student greets his teacher?"
"They've been busy years for both of us."
"Yes indeed. The Dire Wolf! I hear that title everywhere, Jeremy. My word. You have become legendary as a slayer of monsters and trapper of brutes. Samhain, Golgora, Seth Petrov. And poor Rook. I understand you were with Rook when she died?"
"Yes. She was very brave." Jeremy Bane pointed at the bag slung over Mercurio's shoulder. "Let me guess. Jewelry. Some of the cast of the new Hollywood movie are staying here to publicize it. The guys in the band BROKEN NOSES are partying with them."
Beginning to play the silk cord down the side of the building, Mercurio chuckled. "Do go on, dear boy."
"I know how careless they are. They lose and leave behind enough money and drugs for the average person to live on for a year. And all their diamond rings and assorted gaudy bling is all insured, so no one suffers. But still, taking what is not yours is theft and a crime, not to mention breaking into a hotel suite. And I am a licensed PI."
Mercurio waggled a finger reprovingly. "Don't get ahead of yourself, lad. You don't KNOW what I may nor may not have in my grouch bag. Perhaps merely clean socks and underwear. Perhaps library books I wish to return before dawn to avoid a late fee."
The Dire Wolf took a step closer, then hesitated. "I owe you a great deal. I was what, fifteen? With no money to pay you, and still you taught me many of the tricks you know. That one summer, I learned so much about stealth and misdirection. I never paid you back."
"It is a true gift that is freely given," Mercurio told him somberly. The master tugged on tough leather gloves that would let him slide down the silk cord without slicing his hands open. "Listen. You have no client you are working for, correct? You simply wanted to reacquaint yourself with an old tutor. Ciao! We are not likely to meet again."
As the agile old man swung over the edge and began his descent, Bane suddenly said, "Just stay away from the occult, Mercurio! That's all I ask. Leave Midnight War artifacts alone, okay?"
From halfway to the street, the mocking voice came up, "I never make promises I can't keep, my boy!"
Watching, Bane waited until the older man was safely on the sidewalk of the gloomy side street before unfastening the silken cord and letting it drop. As it hit in coils near his feet, Mercurio laughed and gathered it up, then got into the maroon Fiat he had left waiting.
Staying on the roof, the Dire Wolf watched the car pull away. He was thinking of his own early years, when he had been an orphan on the streets who survved by stealing everything from food to clothing to enough money for a night in flophouse. He watched Merurio drive away with emotions more mixed than he had felt in years.
II.
By eleven the next morning, it was clear Bane was not going to get much office work done. He had shoved the morning mail to one side of his desk and given it no further thought. Disassembled in front of him was one of the hideously complicated anesthetic dart guns Michael Hawk had supplied the KDF with and he was carefully cleaning and inspected each part in the bright morning sunlight. More and more since he had re-opened his agency, Bane had started carrying a standard Smith & Wesson .38 revolver again. He was just more comfortable with it, and the sight of it got a healthy respect from average thugs who would blink confusedly at the dart gun. Smith & Wesson had an intimidation factor.
The dart guns had their advantages. They were almost completely silent and non-lethal. Someone hit by one of the darts became dazed and disoriented instantly, passed out within two seconds and remained unconscious for over an hour. But their drawback was that the darts would not penetrate heavy winter clothing and their range was less than that of a handgun. They were great for stealth work where you wanted to avoid casualties but recently Bane had been less inclined to use them. He clipped a fresh CO2 cartridge in and started screwing the tiny parts back together.
Bane felt the familiar warmth of telepathic contact with Cindy as she came downstairs. He welcomed it. Even before she popped into the office door, her mind was calming and reassuring just by its presence... exactly what he needed. He glanced up as the little blonde appeared in the doorway. "Hey," he said, "any news, hon?"
A year younger than Bane, Cindy Brunner was an inch over five feet tall and about one hundred pounds. Her hair was a dark gold, hanging straight down her back, and her large dark blue eyes stood out in a lightly freckled inquisitive face. For some reason, she was dressed more formally than usual, in a powder blue skirt and jacket, with a white silk blouse and a single strand of pearls.
Seeing his reaction both in his face and in his mind, Cindy smiled. "I know you forgot. Today I have to go to see Donna and Taylor at their firm. Signing statements, filling out forms, taking a break for coffee and crullers in the lobby. The Sanguinarians, remember? The DA has been bugging our friends to get the paperwork cleared up."
The dart gun was almost assembled. A dull bronze in color, bulkier than a 45 automatic with an extended needle-thin barrel and a toggle on top, it was a strange looking weapon. Bane kept scrutinizing its parts. "Oh, yeah. I am so glad you're able to deal with nonsense like that. Donna and her daughter are great people, but that paperwork...!"
The telepath pulled over a plain straightback chair next to him, leaning forward. "Look at that darn thing. It belongs in a sci-fi movie. And I know you want to hear about my research this morning. Nothing at all reported at the Hartwick Hotel. No thefts, no break-ins. Funny, huh?"
"Yeah, funny," Bane repeated. "My guess is that the actors and rock stars are not looking for that kind of publicity right now and they just kept it quiet. Those guys are so rich they hardly know what they own anyway."
"Especially when they're on tour," said Cindy. "I bet that a few drunk hookers got hustled out in taxis just before dawn, and the musicians might at most say, 'hey where's me bag of coke? Hell, someone go get me another one. Didn't I have a pinky ring with a ruby in it somewhere, oh well...'"
"And yet... Mercurio WAS there. I saw him with a grouch bag over one shoulder, big enough for gems or drugs. I let him go just out of sentiment."
"Jeremy, my love, do you realize how many felonies you commit in an average week? Me too. If we were caught, we would never get out of prison." She tapped the dart gun with her index finger. "Right there's a good example. We are injecting people without their consent with a potent drug that the FDA has never even heard of, let alone approved. And we're not doctors or paramedics or anything. I mean, the newspapers would have fun with those headlines if anyone we drugged pressed charges against us."
Satisfied the dart gun was ready, the Dire Wolf put it aside and allowed himself one of his rare smiles. "You've got a point. We do bend the rules..."
"Bend the rules? Oh my God. Jeremy, you have a privately owned stealth helicopter with no external lights or ID numbers on the fuselage. The FAA has never seen it. You zoom around without requesting a flight path over metropolitan New York, armed with a pair of 30 caliber chain guns in defiance of a dozen laws at once." She leaned over to hug him from behind. "What else? Oh, there's the hidden arsenal in this very building. Millions in undeclared income. And all the fake IDs and drivers' licenses we provide for our friends from Androval and Chujir and who knows where..."
"Whoa, I think you've drummed it into my head," the Dire Wolf said with a laugh. "So I shouldn't feel bad about letting Mercurio go?"
Cindy pressed her breasts against the back of his head contentedly, arms crossed over his chest, rocking him a little. "No. And to be honest, I suspect you're going to meet him again, whether you intend it or nor." She disengaged herself and picked up a heavy leather shoulder bag from where it hung by the office door. "Well, I'm off to sign papers and schmooze with Donna and Taylor. When I escape their clutches, the two of us can go for Italian food at Four Brothers."
Watching her thoughtfully as she was about to leave, Bane said, "Mercurio taught me burglar arts. I don't think I ever mentioned him to you."
"Aw, you've got a past with a million secrets," she said as she closed the door behind her.
Sitting there after she left, the Dire Wolf reflected that she didn't know the half of it. He had done many things to survive as a child that he wasn't proud of now. He seldom revisited those years mentally, in fact he had blotted most of that era away as best he could. Even before puberty, when he had broken away from the two alcoholics who had taken him under their dubious patronage, the young Bane had been quicker than any normal human. Picking pockets and swiping merchandise had been easy for him.
Then, at fifteen, he had met this European cat burglar called Mercurio. In exchange for working as a look-out or a runner with the loot, Bane had been taught many of the tricks of second-story work. After six months, Mercurio had moved on. He seldom stayed in one territory too long, but he had given Bane basic skills he needed. The young Dire Wolf tried to steal mostly from the wealthy, figuring that people who rode in limos with a driver would not miss a necklace or bracelet that meant a few square meals or a cheap hotel room for him.
As far as he knew, Mercurio had not been back on the East Coast again. It was only chance that one of Bane's informal group of observers had noticed the man at Newark Airport, picking up luggage from the carousel and had phoned a report. That had been the day before yesterday. Asking around to find what might be a tempting target, Bane had thought the assembly of a dozen rock stars and Hollywood actors at the Hartwick had seemed promising.
What was really bothering Bane was rumors he had been hearing of Mercurio doing heists that involved Midnight War talismans. In California, it was said that Mercurio had stolen a Darthan blasting wand from a collector for a huge fee. To the average person, that talisman was merely a copper rod with a green jewel on one end, but Bane knew how dangerous those wands were and he doubted if Mercurio respected its power. Then there was the story going around about the Mirrors of Chij. Bane had tried to locate those artifacts expressly to destroy them. It was one of the first things that Kenneth Dred had warned him about when they had met. Now, rumors had been going around that Mercurio had obtained it somehow and sold it to an occult historian in Florida. That had been on Bane's list of reports to follow up on ever since. The Mirrors of Chij... just thinking about them made him jumpy.
Lost in his brooding, chin resting on one fist, Bane was taken by surprise when the doorbell rang.
III.
On his feet as if he had been given an electric shock, the Dire Wolf was at the front door in a second. He pressed the button that opened the outer door to the street and said through the intercom, "Just a second, I'll be right with you." He slid open a wooden panel set in the wall at eye level to reveal a monitor screen and a bank of dials ands switches. Even as the visitor stepped into the tiny foyer, advanced Trom sensors were taking readings more detailed and comprehensive than any MRI.
It was Mercurio. On the screen, small green letters ran upward saying, LAMBERTO FRANCIS SANTARELLI aka MERCURIO. Biological age 66, five feet eleven inches tall, one hundred and eighty-two pounds. Respiration, blood pressure, EKG... all readings were fine. The man showed exceptional muscle tone and metabolic efficiency for his age. A second later, red lettering started the upward crawl, detailing the man's criminal record. Very impressive list of charges, Bane thought, but not many convictions and even those were on minor charges.
Bane slid the panel shut and opened the inner door. "Hello. I wasn't expecting a visit."
"Ah, you've taken over Kenneth Dred's old house. This building has quite a history, Jeremy. Long before your own birth, Dr Vitarius used this as a headquarters." Mercurio stepped into the front hallway, still looking around. He was slightly overdressed in a tailored Navy blue suit with a vest, silk shirt and a diamond stickpin in his tie. The slim ebony cane he carried had a slightly ominous look, but Bane knew from the readings that the master thief had come unarmed. The cane was just a cane.
"...and Mr Dred's work," Bane replied, "At least, as much as I can. In here, if you don't mind." The Dire Wolf led the way into his office and held out a chair in front of his desk for the visitor, then went around to his own seat. "As you can imagine, I've been reminiscing about old times."
"Yesss," drawled Mercurio. He reached in his inner jacket pocket, glanced around for an ashtray and saw none, so he went on, "That was so long ago, my boy. Even then, the street toughs called you 'Dire Wolf.' Where did that come from?"
"No idea," Bane lied. He remembered the real Dire Wolf vividly. "It was just a nickname that stuck. I was actually glad to see you so nimble last night. Still master of your trade."
"Many thanks, but the clock is ticking for all of us. I am nearly ready to retire to a little villa I have had my eye on in southern Italy." Mercurio had taken in all the odd details of the office, including the fishtank with its bizarre creatures from Ulgor.. the starfish with one red eye in its center, the luminous cuttlefish, the hermit crabs who apparently had built a bridge from one basking rock to the next. "We parted on amiable terms, Jeremy. I see now that you have become a notorious vigilante in the Midnight War. I hope our paths don't cross on a harsh note now, so late in life."
The Dire Wolf took a long time to respond. "Mercurio. In all seriousness, I beg you to stay away from Midnight War artifacts. Fortunes can be made just off jewelry and gold and old coins or stamps. That's none of my concern. But all my life, I have seen what talismans made by the Darthim or Red Sect can do. I hesitate to go after them myself, and I personally have defenses."
"You don't keep coffee for guests?" Mercurio asked in an outraged voice.
"No, sorry. I don't drink it myself and I remember you hate instant coffee. You know," Bane said as he leaned forward with his forearms flat before him, "Maybe we can help each other out."
"I'm listening, dear boy."
"All right. I always promised that I would pay you someday for the lessons you taught me as a kid. Believe me, they have been useful over the years. Kenneth Dred left me a fortune and I've been expanding on it. I'm well off. Let me give you a payment twice whatever you were offered for whatever Midnight War nightmare you are supposed to snatch. You can send me a nice postcard from Tahiti and we would both be content."
The thief shook his head once and pressed his hands down on the arms of the chair as he slowly rose. "Ah, I don't think you will ever really understand, Jeremy. This is not just a means to pay the bills. It's my trade, it's an art...It's what I was put on this Earth to do. Do you know that feeling?"
"I think I do," the Dire Wolf said. "I don't need to track down monsters and maniacs but it's what I'm meant to be doing. I guess you're the same way."
As Mercurio headed for the door, Bane accompanied him. The old rogue said, "My friend, surely tonight somewhere in New York City, a werewolf runs on all fours and a ghoul is digging at a fresh grave. I am sure you can find less morally ambiguous cases to pursue than a poor old man ready to retire."
"It's not your morals I'm worried about," Bane began but was cut off as the master closed the street door with a cheery flourish of a gloved hand. Left alone, the Dire Wolf finished, "...it's your safety."
III.
At a quarter to three in the morning, on a side street near the southern reaches of White Plains, Bane stole silently through a neatly kept lawn, pressing up against the rear wall of a three story white building. The top floor had once been the attic, he knew, but Drummond Muir had converted it into a showroom for his mystic collection. Over the front door a single light bulb burned and a dim amber glow in a bathroom window showed where a nightlight was kept on.
When he had circled the neighborhood earlier, the Dire Wolf had spotted Mercurio's Fiat parked near a 24 hour convenience mart. His heart had sunk a little at the sight but really he had been expecting it. With a bit of audacity, he left his own Mustang nearby and stalked through the dark streets in the all-black outfit. Maybe it would be just as well to get this over with. One subject Bane knew thoroughly was where Midnight War artifacts were amassed, and he had heard gossip for months that a man named Winscombe had been trying desperately to get hold of a Nekrosan soul decanter. Negotiations had gotten nowhere and turned bitter. Bane's instinct had been that here was a good possibility for Mercurio's last heist.
Along the rear wall of the house, where the inverted-Y shape of the brick chimney rose, a thin silk cord hung down, almost invisible in the night. Bane exhaled involuntarily, pulled on his leather gloves and tugged the cord experimentally. It was well secured. With his low body weight and highly developed muscles, the Dire Wolf sped up the cord as if someone were helping him by pulling it up. He found it wedged by a rubber-tipped grapple to a metal clamp fastened to the chimney, and within easy reach was an open window.
Holding on with his legs, he leaned over and examined the window. There was no sign of any burglar alarm. This was a trait of occultists that had always puzzled him but which was often useful. Even the most dangerous warlocks and groups like Those Who Remember tended to disregard conventional precautions while setting up elaborate mystic defenses. It had worked to his advantage many times. Judging the window was more than adequate to admit his gaunt form, Bane reached over with both hands and lightly pulled himself through. There was an old-fashioned radiator right under the window. He stepped over it and stood motionless in the darknesss.
Slowing his own breathing to a minimum, Bane enhanced his hearing beyond normal limits. This was a Tel Shai technique that had become sudden nature to him by now. Nothing moved on this floor of the house. Two stories below, on the ground floor, he heard the click of a light switch and the sound of a refrigerator door opening. It seemed as if Drummond Muir had awakened for a late night snack.
Something in that room felt threatening, there was movement of freezing air at face level. Bane had learned to trust his instincts. Stepping back quickly, he whipped out a powerful pencil flashlight that cast an intense beam no thicker than a string. Immediately he pounced forward, seized a glass stopper on the dresser and jammed it down into the neck of a ruby-red container. He had instinctively held his breath as soon as he had recognized his danger.
A soul decanter from Perjena. Not even the Nekrosim opened these themselves, they forced disposable slaves to tug those stoppers free when a hated enemy had been captured. Bane tucked the artifact under one arm, feeling its chill seep through even the Trom armor under his clothing. Its proximity worried him. In a flash, he was through the open window and hanging on by one hand. He tried to figure a way to tug the window down while holding the decanter but nothing seemed feasible. He knew Muir was awake in the house and might even be coming upstairs to this very room. Bane went down the silk cord fast enough that to an observer he would seem to be falling, hit the short grass with bent knees and was off at a full run.
Let the window stay open, he thought angrily. The police would recognize that silk climbing cord with the collapsible grapnel on its end. They knew who used such a cord, and they would find his car parked nearby as well. They just would not find Mercurio himself. Jumping in his Mustang, he tucked the decanter on the floor of the back seat and headed south back to Manhattan.
IV.
It was getting light out when he entered the dead-end alley off Lexington, passed under the steel barrier which rose automatically and rolled down the steep concrete ramp to the small parking garage. Cindy's MG was in the other spot. She herself had been dozing in a wooden chair with her feet up on a second chair pulled in front of her. As the Mustang came to a halt and its motor shut off, the blonde telepath got up and stretched. She had changed into an oversized gold-colored bathrobe over blue cotton pajamas and fuzzy slippers. Her yawn went on for half a minute.
"Gosh. What day is it? I figured you'd be back with something dramatic, hon." She wiped her eye delicately with a knuckle. "Isn't that a Nekrosan thingie? A soul decanter, right?"
"Yes," Bane answered gruffly. "First one I've ever seen and hopefully the last. Come on, let's get this where it's safe." They went up metal steps and through a plain wooden door into a long narrow stone corridor. At the other end were the stairs leading up to the front door, as well as the power generator, water heater and air purifiers. To their right in that corridor was the door to the KDF Arsenal.
To their left was a massive door of cold iron, inset at the top with protective Eldaran sigils. Only the two of them now knew the code that unlocked the Vault. Under a single naked light bulb was revealed rough shelving that held the most perilous items they had gathered over the years. Shards of the cursed sword Hellspawn. The Brand of Submission, the Zhune artifacts of the lost science of that ancient land, the Ghoul-summoning pendant. The Jar of the Djinn. The Spiked Gauntlet. The voodoo Death Drum from their first meeting with Samuel Watesa, the Silver Hammer of Malberon. Two Mummy cases nailed shut, jeweled chalices and plain clay goblets, a row of human skulls behind glass casing, some crumbling sea trunks piled atop each other. Much more.
Finding an empty space on one shelf, Bane reluctantly lowered the deep red decanter onto it. "I wish there was a method to reverse the effects of this thing, but not even the Nekrosim know a way."
Cindy's voice was barely audible. "But you mean.. that's Mercurio in there?"
"I warned him as clearly as I could," Bane said. Bending his head closer, he could just hear faint, imploring voices from within the glass. "I'm sorry, old teacher."
2/27/2016
9/22-9/24/1998
I.
At one in the morning, a thin man dressed all in black froze with one sneakered foot on the edge of the hotel roof. Coming almost within reach, a second man also all in black had emerged from the shadows. Mercurio was outraged. He would have sworn there was no one living who could have gotten that close to him without being detected. The great thief's pride was stung.
In the faint backwash from the street lights far below, the white flecks in his goatee and pointed mustache could just be seen, and the black wool cap hid the receding hairline. In his black tights, Mercurio still showed the nimble body of an acrobat. Over one shoulder was a small bag with a drawstring, and he was playing out a black silk cord he had fastened to a vent pipe protruding on the roof. Frozen motionless, he watched the stranger calmly approach.
"I was hoping you wouldn't show up in Manhattan again," said the newcomer. He was the same height and build as Mercurio, but wearing slacks, a turtleneck and sportjacket all in black. Just beyond arm's reach, he paused and regarded the master thief with pale watchful eyes.
It was those eyes that triggered memories. "Oh really," the great thief laughed. "More than twenty years have passed and that is how the student greets his teacher?"
"They've been busy years for both of us."
"Yes indeed. The Dire Wolf! I hear that title everywhere, Jeremy. My word. You have become legendary as a slayer of monsters and trapper of brutes. Samhain, Golgora, Seth Petrov. And poor Rook. I understand you were with Rook when she died?"
"Yes. She was very brave." Jeremy Bane pointed at the bag slung over Mercurio's shoulder. "Let me guess. Jewelry. Some of the cast of the new Hollywood movie are staying here to publicize it. The guys in the band BROKEN NOSES are partying with them."
Beginning to play the silk cord down the side of the building, Mercurio chuckled. "Do go on, dear boy."
"I know how careless they are. They lose and leave behind enough money and drugs for the average person to live on for a year. And all their diamond rings and assorted gaudy bling is all insured, so no one suffers. But still, taking what is not yours is theft and a crime, not to mention breaking into a hotel suite. And I am a licensed PI."
Mercurio waggled a finger reprovingly. "Don't get ahead of yourself, lad. You don't KNOW what I may nor may not have in my grouch bag. Perhaps merely clean socks and underwear. Perhaps library books I wish to return before dawn to avoid a late fee."
The Dire Wolf took a step closer, then hesitated. "I owe you a great deal. I was what, fifteen? With no money to pay you, and still you taught me many of the tricks you know. That one summer, I learned so much about stealth and misdirection. I never paid you back."
"It is a true gift that is freely given," Mercurio told him somberly. The master tugged on tough leather gloves that would let him slide down the silk cord without slicing his hands open. "Listen. You have no client you are working for, correct? You simply wanted to reacquaint yourself with an old tutor. Ciao! We are not likely to meet again."
As the agile old man swung over the edge and began his descent, Bane suddenly said, "Just stay away from the occult, Mercurio! That's all I ask. Leave Midnight War artifacts alone, okay?"
From halfway to the street, the mocking voice came up, "I never make promises I can't keep, my boy!"
Watching, Bane waited until the older man was safely on the sidewalk of the gloomy side street before unfastening the silken cord and letting it drop. As it hit in coils near his feet, Mercurio laughed and gathered it up, then got into the maroon Fiat he had left waiting.
Staying on the roof, the Dire Wolf watched the car pull away. He was thinking of his own early years, when he had been an orphan on the streets who survved by stealing everything from food to clothing to enough money for a night in flophouse. He watched Merurio drive away with emotions more mixed than he had felt in years.
II.
By eleven the next morning, it was clear Bane was not going to get much office work done. He had shoved the morning mail to one side of his desk and given it no further thought. Disassembled in front of him was one of the hideously complicated anesthetic dart guns Michael Hawk had supplied the KDF with and he was carefully cleaning and inspected each part in the bright morning sunlight. More and more since he had re-opened his agency, Bane had started carrying a standard Smith & Wesson .38 revolver again. He was just more comfortable with it, and the sight of it got a healthy respect from average thugs who would blink confusedly at the dart gun. Smith & Wesson had an intimidation factor.
The dart guns had their advantages. They were almost completely silent and non-lethal. Someone hit by one of the darts became dazed and disoriented instantly, passed out within two seconds and remained unconscious for over an hour. But their drawback was that the darts would not penetrate heavy winter clothing and their range was less than that of a handgun. They were great for stealth work where you wanted to avoid casualties but recently Bane had been less inclined to use them. He clipped a fresh CO2 cartridge in and started screwing the tiny parts back together.
Bane felt the familiar warmth of telepathic contact with Cindy as she came downstairs. He welcomed it. Even before she popped into the office door, her mind was calming and reassuring just by its presence... exactly what he needed. He glanced up as the little blonde appeared in the doorway. "Hey," he said, "any news, hon?"
A year younger than Bane, Cindy Brunner was an inch over five feet tall and about one hundred pounds. Her hair was a dark gold, hanging straight down her back, and her large dark blue eyes stood out in a lightly freckled inquisitive face. For some reason, she was dressed more formally than usual, in a powder blue skirt and jacket, with a white silk blouse and a single strand of pearls.
Seeing his reaction both in his face and in his mind, Cindy smiled. "I know you forgot. Today I have to go to see Donna and Taylor at their firm. Signing statements, filling out forms, taking a break for coffee and crullers in the lobby. The Sanguinarians, remember? The DA has been bugging our friends to get the paperwork cleared up."
The dart gun was almost assembled. A dull bronze in color, bulkier than a 45 automatic with an extended needle-thin barrel and a toggle on top, it was a strange looking weapon. Bane kept scrutinizing its parts. "Oh, yeah. I am so glad you're able to deal with nonsense like that. Donna and her daughter are great people, but that paperwork...!"
The telepath pulled over a plain straightback chair next to him, leaning forward. "Look at that darn thing. It belongs in a sci-fi movie. And I know you want to hear about my research this morning. Nothing at all reported at the Hartwick Hotel. No thefts, no break-ins. Funny, huh?"
"Yeah, funny," Bane repeated. "My guess is that the actors and rock stars are not looking for that kind of publicity right now and they just kept it quiet. Those guys are so rich they hardly know what they own anyway."
"Especially when they're on tour," said Cindy. "I bet that a few drunk hookers got hustled out in taxis just before dawn, and the musicians might at most say, 'hey where's me bag of coke? Hell, someone go get me another one. Didn't I have a pinky ring with a ruby in it somewhere, oh well...'"
"And yet... Mercurio WAS there. I saw him with a grouch bag over one shoulder, big enough for gems or drugs. I let him go just out of sentiment."
"Jeremy, my love, do you realize how many felonies you commit in an average week? Me too. If we were caught, we would never get out of prison." She tapped the dart gun with her index finger. "Right there's a good example. We are injecting people without their consent with a potent drug that the FDA has never even heard of, let alone approved. And we're not doctors or paramedics or anything. I mean, the newspapers would have fun with those headlines if anyone we drugged pressed charges against us."
Satisfied the dart gun was ready, the Dire Wolf put it aside and allowed himself one of his rare smiles. "You've got a point. We do bend the rules..."
"Bend the rules? Oh my God. Jeremy, you have a privately owned stealth helicopter with no external lights or ID numbers on the fuselage. The FAA has never seen it. You zoom around without requesting a flight path over metropolitan New York, armed with a pair of 30 caliber chain guns in defiance of a dozen laws at once." She leaned over to hug him from behind. "What else? Oh, there's the hidden arsenal in this very building. Millions in undeclared income. And all the fake IDs and drivers' licenses we provide for our friends from Androval and Chujir and who knows where..."
"Whoa, I think you've drummed it into my head," the Dire Wolf said with a laugh. "So I shouldn't feel bad about letting Mercurio go?"
Cindy pressed her breasts against the back of his head contentedly, arms crossed over his chest, rocking him a little. "No. And to be honest, I suspect you're going to meet him again, whether you intend it or nor." She disengaged herself and picked up a heavy leather shoulder bag from where it hung by the office door. "Well, I'm off to sign papers and schmooze with Donna and Taylor. When I escape their clutches, the two of us can go for Italian food at Four Brothers."
Watching her thoughtfully as she was about to leave, Bane said, "Mercurio taught me burglar arts. I don't think I ever mentioned him to you."
"Aw, you've got a past with a million secrets," she said as she closed the door behind her.
Sitting there after she left, the Dire Wolf reflected that she didn't know the half of it. He had done many things to survive as a child that he wasn't proud of now. He seldom revisited those years mentally, in fact he had blotted most of that era away as best he could. Even before puberty, when he had broken away from the two alcoholics who had taken him under their dubious patronage, the young Bane had been quicker than any normal human. Picking pockets and swiping merchandise had been easy for him.
Then, at fifteen, he had met this European cat burglar called Mercurio. In exchange for working as a look-out or a runner with the loot, Bane had been taught many of the tricks of second-story work. After six months, Mercurio had moved on. He seldom stayed in one territory too long, but he had given Bane basic skills he needed. The young Dire Wolf tried to steal mostly from the wealthy, figuring that people who rode in limos with a driver would not miss a necklace or bracelet that meant a few square meals or a cheap hotel room for him.
As far as he knew, Mercurio had not been back on the East Coast again. It was only chance that one of Bane's informal group of observers had noticed the man at Newark Airport, picking up luggage from the carousel and had phoned a report. That had been the day before yesterday. Asking around to find what might be a tempting target, Bane had thought the assembly of a dozen rock stars and Hollywood actors at the Hartwick had seemed promising.
What was really bothering Bane was rumors he had been hearing of Mercurio doing heists that involved Midnight War talismans. In California, it was said that Mercurio had stolen a Darthan blasting wand from a collector for a huge fee. To the average person, that talisman was merely a copper rod with a green jewel on one end, but Bane knew how dangerous those wands were and he doubted if Mercurio respected its power. Then there was the story going around about the Mirrors of Chij. Bane had tried to locate those artifacts expressly to destroy them. It was one of the first things that Kenneth Dred had warned him about when they had met. Now, rumors had been going around that Mercurio had obtained it somehow and sold it to an occult historian in Florida. That had been on Bane's list of reports to follow up on ever since. The Mirrors of Chij... just thinking about them made him jumpy.
Lost in his brooding, chin resting on one fist, Bane was taken by surprise when the doorbell rang.
III.
On his feet as if he had been given an electric shock, the Dire Wolf was at the front door in a second. He pressed the button that opened the outer door to the street and said through the intercom, "Just a second, I'll be right with you." He slid open a wooden panel set in the wall at eye level to reveal a monitor screen and a bank of dials ands switches. Even as the visitor stepped into the tiny foyer, advanced Trom sensors were taking readings more detailed and comprehensive than any MRI.
It was Mercurio. On the screen, small green letters ran upward saying, LAMBERTO FRANCIS SANTARELLI aka MERCURIO. Biological age 66, five feet eleven inches tall, one hundred and eighty-two pounds. Respiration, blood pressure, EKG... all readings were fine. The man showed exceptional muscle tone and metabolic efficiency for his age. A second later, red lettering started the upward crawl, detailing the man's criminal record. Very impressive list of charges, Bane thought, but not many convictions and even those were on minor charges.
Bane slid the panel shut and opened the inner door. "Hello. I wasn't expecting a visit."
"Ah, you've taken over Kenneth Dred's old house. This building has quite a history, Jeremy. Long before your own birth, Dr Vitarius used this as a headquarters." Mercurio stepped into the front hallway, still looking around. He was slightly overdressed in a tailored Navy blue suit with a vest, silk shirt and a diamond stickpin in his tie. The slim ebony cane he carried had a slightly ominous look, but Bane knew from the readings that the master thief had come unarmed. The cane was just a cane.
"...and Mr Dred's work," Bane replied, "At least, as much as I can. In here, if you don't mind." The Dire Wolf led the way into his office and held out a chair in front of his desk for the visitor, then went around to his own seat. "As you can imagine, I've been reminiscing about old times."
"Yesss," drawled Mercurio. He reached in his inner jacket pocket, glanced around for an ashtray and saw none, so he went on, "That was so long ago, my boy. Even then, the street toughs called you 'Dire Wolf.' Where did that come from?"
"No idea," Bane lied. He remembered the real Dire Wolf vividly. "It was just a nickname that stuck. I was actually glad to see you so nimble last night. Still master of your trade."
"Many thanks, but the clock is ticking for all of us. I am nearly ready to retire to a little villa I have had my eye on in southern Italy." Mercurio had taken in all the odd details of the office, including the fishtank with its bizarre creatures from Ulgor.. the starfish with one red eye in its center, the luminous cuttlefish, the hermit crabs who apparently had built a bridge from one basking rock to the next. "We parted on amiable terms, Jeremy. I see now that you have become a notorious vigilante in the Midnight War. I hope our paths don't cross on a harsh note now, so late in life."
The Dire Wolf took a long time to respond. "Mercurio. In all seriousness, I beg you to stay away from Midnight War artifacts. Fortunes can be made just off jewelry and gold and old coins or stamps. That's none of my concern. But all my life, I have seen what talismans made by the Darthim or Red Sect can do. I hesitate to go after them myself, and I personally have defenses."
"You don't keep coffee for guests?" Mercurio asked in an outraged voice.
"No, sorry. I don't drink it myself and I remember you hate instant coffee. You know," Bane said as he leaned forward with his forearms flat before him, "Maybe we can help each other out."
"I'm listening, dear boy."
"All right. I always promised that I would pay you someday for the lessons you taught me as a kid. Believe me, they have been useful over the years. Kenneth Dred left me a fortune and I've been expanding on it. I'm well off. Let me give you a payment twice whatever you were offered for whatever Midnight War nightmare you are supposed to snatch. You can send me a nice postcard from Tahiti and we would both be content."
The thief shook his head once and pressed his hands down on the arms of the chair as he slowly rose. "Ah, I don't think you will ever really understand, Jeremy. This is not just a means to pay the bills. It's my trade, it's an art...It's what I was put on this Earth to do. Do you know that feeling?"
"I think I do," the Dire Wolf said. "I don't need to track down monsters and maniacs but it's what I'm meant to be doing. I guess you're the same way."
As Mercurio headed for the door, Bane accompanied him. The old rogue said, "My friend, surely tonight somewhere in New York City, a werewolf runs on all fours and a ghoul is digging at a fresh grave. I am sure you can find less morally ambiguous cases to pursue than a poor old man ready to retire."
"It's not your morals I'm worried about," Bane began but was cut off as the master closed the street door with a cheery flourish of a gloved hand. Left alone, the Dire Wolf finished, "...it's your safety."
III.
At a quarter to three in the morning, on a side street near the southern reaches of White Plains, Bane stole silently through a neatly kept lawn, pressing up against the rear wall of a three story white building. The top floor had once been the attic, he knew, but Drummond Muir had converted it into a showroom for his mystic collection. Over the front door a single light bulb burned and a dim amber glow in a bathroom window showed where a nightlight was kept on.
When he had circled the neighborhood earlier, the Dire Wolf had spotted Mercurio's Fiat parked near a 24 hour convenience mart. His heart had sunk a little at the sight but really he had been expecting it. With a bit of audacity, he left his own Mustang nearby and stalked through the dark streets in the all-black outfit. Maybe it would be just as well to get this over with. One subject Bane knew thoroughly was where Midnight War artifacts were amassed, and he had heard gossip for months that a man named Winscombe had been trying desperately to get hold of a Nekrosan soul decanter. Negotiations had gotten nowhere and turned bitter. Bane's instinct had been that here was a good possibility for Mercurio's last heist.
Along the rear wall of the house, where the inverted-Y shape of the brick chimney rose, a thin silk cord hung down, almost invisible in the night. Bane exhaled involuntarily, pulled on his leather gloves and tugged the cord experimentally. It was well secured. With his low body weight and highly developed muscles, the Dire Wolf sped up the cord as if someone were helping him by pulling it up. He found it wedged by a rubber-tipped grapple to a metal clamp fastened to the chimney, and within easy reach was an open window.
Holding on with his legs, he leaned over and examined the window. There was no sign of any burglar alarm. This was a trait of occultists that had always puzzled him but which was often useful. Even the most dangerous warlocks and groups like Those Who Remember tended to disregard conventional precautions while setting up elaborate mystic defenses. It had worked to his advantage many times. Judging the window was more than adequate to admit his gaunt form, Bane reached over with both hands and lightly pulled himself through. There was an old-fashioned radiator right under the window. He stepped over it and stood motionless in the darknesss.
Slowing his own breathing to a minimum, Bane enhanced his hearing beyond normal limits. This was a Tel Shai technique that had become sudden nature to him by now. Nothing moved on this floor of the house. Two stories below, on the ground floor, he heard the click of a light switch and the sound of a refrigerator door opening. It seemed as if Drummond Muir had awakened for a late night snack.
Something in that room felt threatening, there was movement of freezing air at face level. Bane had learned to trust his instincts. Stepping back quickly, he whipped out a powerful pencil flashlight that cast an intense beam no thicker than a string. Immediately he pounced forward, seized a glass stopper on the dresser and jammed it down into the neck of a ruby-red container. He had instinctively held his breath as soon as he had recognized his danger.
A soul decanter from Perjena. Not even the Nekrosim opened these themselves, they forced disposable slaves to tug those stoppers free when a hated enemy had been captured. Bane tucked the artifact under one arm, feeling its chill seep through even the Trom armor under his clothing. Its proximity worried him. In a flash, he was through the open window and hanging on by one hand. He tried to figure a way to tug the window down while holding the decanter but nothing seemed feasible. He knew Muir was awake in the house and might even be coming upstairs to this very room. Bane went down the silk cord fast enough that to an observer he would seem to be falling, hit the short grass with bent knees and was off at a full run.
Let the window stay open, he thought angrily. The police would recognize that silk climbing cord with the collapsible grapnel on its end. They knew who used such a cord, and they would find his car parked nearby as well. They just would not find Mercurio himself. Jumping in his Mustang, he tucked the decanter on the floor of the back seat and headed south back to Manhattan.
IV.
It was getting light out when he entered the dead-end alley off Lexington, passed under the steel barrier which rose automatically and rolled down the steep concrete ramp to the small parking garage. Cindy's MG was in the other spot. She herself had been dozing in a wooden chair with her feet up on a second chair pulled in front of her. As the Mustang came to a halt and its motor shut off, the blonde telepath got up and stretched. She had changed into an oversized gold-colored bathrobe over blue cotton pajamas and fuzzy slippers. Her yawn went on for half a minute.
"Gosh. What day is it? I figured you'd be back with something dramatic, hon." She wiped her eye delicately with a knuckle. "Isn't that a Nekrosan thingie? A soul decanter, right?"
"Yes," Bane answered gruffly. "First one I've ever seen and hopefully the last. Come on, let's get this where it's safe." They went up metal steps and through a plain wooden door into a long narrow stone corridor. At the other end were the stairs leading up to the front door, as well as the power generator, water heater and air purifiers. To their right in that corridor was the door to the KDF Arsenal.
To their left was a massive door of cold iron, inset at the top with protective Eldaran sigils. Only the two of them now knew the code that unlocked the Vault. Under a single naked light bulb was revealed rough shelving that held the most perilous items they had gathered over the years. Shards of the cursed sword Hellspawn. The Brand of Submission, the Zhune artifacts of the lost science of that ancient land, the Ghoul-summoning pendant. The Jar of the Djinn. The Spiked Gauntlet. The voodoo Death Drum from their first meeting with Samuel Watesa, the Silver Hammer of Malberon. Two Mummy cases nailed shut, jeweled chalices and plain clay goblets, a row of human skulls behind glass casing, some crumbling sea trunks piled atop each other. Much more.
Finding an empty space on one shelf, Bane reluctantly lowered the deep red decanter onto it. "I wish there was a method to reverse the effects of this thing, but not even the Nekrosim know a way."
Cindy's voice was barely audible. "But you mean.. that's Mercurio in there?"
"I warned him as clearly as I could," Bane said. Bending his head closer, he could just hear faint, imploring voices from within the glass. "I'm sorry, old teacher."
2/27/2016
