"The Best Memories Money Can Buy"
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dochermes"The Best Memories Money Can Buy"
11/2-11/3/2009
I.
Because of his enhanced metabolism, Jeremy Bane was always ravenous. The same Variance that gave him his lightning reflexes and peak motion also meant he burned up calories at a ferocious pace. At six feet even and one hundred and seventy pounds, the Dire Wolf ate enough for three bigger men.
Walking back down Third Avenue toward his office after a fruitless afternoon seeking leads on an extortion case, he decided not to wait for a late lunch. He swung into Mosher's Deli at the corner of 50th Street and immediately stepped to one side after entering. This was automatic procedure with him. A lifetime spent fighting the Midnight War had taught him to always be sure of exits, to determine if any people in the area were as possible threat, to watch for possible ambushes. He was barely aware of doing this, but it was a major factor in his still being alive.
Nothing significant had changed since he had last been in here two weeks ago. There was a middle-aged couple at the table toward the rear, a teenage boy standing by the counter eating a hot dog with everything, a stout woman balefully inspecting the luncheon meat assortment. Judging by their body language, the way their clothing fit, even the tightness in facial muscles, he decided none of them were armed. There was no threat in sight. Even Bane relaxed slightly.
Then he saw Dandelion at the cash register.
Long experience in the desperate game kept him from visibly reacting. The petite woman with a dramatic shock of platinum blonde hair was wearing a slightly stained apron over a regular blue polo shirt. She glanced up at him when he entered but showed no signs of recognition. This was more than unexpected. What was she up to? Bane waited while she took the teenage boy's money, gave him his change and told him to have a nice day with the lack of sincerity usual from service people
What was the most dangerous assassin of her generation doing working in a deli? Was she laying a trap for some target? Was she watching the routines of someone she had been hired to kill?
Well, he wouldn't give her away just yet. For all he knew, she was being watched by agents of the Mandate or STIGMA. Dandelion lived a life on the razor's edge even more than he did. Bane stepped up, gave her a slight nod in greeting. "Hi. I'd like a twelve inch sub. Ham and Swiss Cheese, pickle chips. Toasted, please."
"Anything to drink, sir?" she asked with complete diffidence. She gave him a second look. Bane knew he was a vivid figure in his all-black outfit of slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket, with those pale grey eyes beneath heavy black brows. It was an image he deliberately chose. He was used to people reacting exactly the way she was.
"Yeah, a big bottle of seltzer. Thank you."
"It'll be right up," she said, turning away and going back to the slicer where she was working on a roll of bologna. Bane watched her slipping a piece of wax paper between each slice with practiced dexterity. Over by the grill, a remarkably unattractive man was working on the sub.
Bane had seen Martin Mosher here many times. The son of the original owner, Mosher was in his mid-forties. Short, round about the middle, cursed with frizzy dark red hair and a large bald spot, he had not been gifted with good looks in any way. The big nose looked like a yam, and the mustache did nothing to camouflage that. Bane wondered if Mosher knew exactly who he had hired. Was he himself connected with the underworld or one of the dozen intelligence agencies that Dandy dealt with? The man seemed oblivious to everything except getting that sub assembled and toasted.
Dandelion folded the stack of bologna slices into cling film, placed it in the cooled display case and started taking the slicer apart. There was no doubt it was her, of course. Bane had known her for ten years, since they had been Tel Shai students and she had been expelled by the Teachers for reasons they never explained. Her special ability was incredible ambidextrous accuracy with any firearm. That marksmanship was literally supernatural. Bane himself would be at serious risk going up against her in a quick-draw confrontation.
What seemed ironic to him was that Dandelion did not look at all like a mercenary who killed for huge fees. With her delicate features and slight build, she seemed harmless but her career had proven otherwise. Mosher brought the sub over and Dandy peeled OFF her disposable gloves to take his money. As she handed over his change, their eyes met. For a second. Bane was alarmed at the complete lack of recognition in her gaze. Even for Dandelion, that was good acting.
"Thanks," he said in a casual tone as he could muster.
"Have a nice day," she replied the same way she spoke to every customer, going back to her disassembly of the slicer.
Intensely curious about the whole situation, Bane stepped back out in the unseasonably warm November afternoon and stood in front of the deli while he began working on the sub. Appropriately enough considering his trade name, he wolfed down half of it immediately and washed it down with a big gulp of the seltzer. As he began walking toward his office again, the Dire Wolf finished the sub and crumpled up the wrapper.
What should he do about her? He did not want Dandelion carrying out commissions on his territory. He really would have been happier if she had stayed out of New York City altogether but she never listened to anyone, least of all him. Bane decided he would walk past Mosher's Deli on the opposite side of the street a few times each day for a while to keep an eye on Dandy. He didn't think he should start eating there more often, he was too well known in the dark circles they both inhabited.
Getting close to 44th Street, the Dire Wolf felt he was still hungry. He should have stopped at Mosher's a minute ago...
Wait a minute. He was still holding the crumpled paper and the nearly empty bottle. He HAD been at the deli. There's where he had seen someone he knew. Bane stopped dead in his tracks and swung around to scowl in the direction of Mosher's. Dandelion! She had been working there. And she had shown no sign of knowing him.
This was strange. He never let his concentration wander like that. Why had he experienced that odd lapse? Bane's eyes were normally wary and even cold, but now they almost glittered with intensity. All his warning alarms were going off.
Nearing the four story yellow brick building at 44th, Bane broke into a near sprint through the double glass doors which hissed open automatically. He went past the EMERGENCY ONE CLINIC and down the short dead-end hallway by the staircase. A few seconds later, he dropped down behind his desk and yanked out a notebook from its wide top drawer. Writing as quickly as he could, the Dire Wolf put down what had just happened and then added the date and time.
That might help. He got up, used the tiny bathroom and washed his hands and then went back to his desk. Too bad he wasn't making any progress on that extortion case. His usual sources had been no help. The whole day had been a waste. He was reaching for the office phone when he noticed the notebook. Bane read the entry in his own handwriting, realized he had forgotten all about the Dandelion situation again and felt frightened for the first time in many years.
II.
At dawn the next morning, the office flashed a gorgeous sky blue as a flare of light exploded noiselessly in its open area. Bane appeared from nowhere and sat down in one of the chairs facing his desk. Using an Eldar travel crystal took more concentration and will power than most people could manage. Even after all his years of practice, it wasn't easy.
Exhaling with relief, he went over to unfasten the latches behind the waist-high bookcase and swung it around on hidden casters to reveal the shallow pit he had chiseled out himself. When the time came to close this office and retire, Bane realized he would have a real chore to fill it back in so no one would notice. Here in a trunk was kept his field suit, some weapons and talismans, and it was here that he carefully placed the tiny Eldar-crafted jewel into its box and dug around in the trunks to retrieve a heavy small bundle wrapped in a soft leather bag. He was glad now he had held onto the illegal item. He covered the pit over with the bookcase and felt that now at least he had a real plan underway.
Twelve hours at Tel Shai had lifted his spirits immensely. He went there at least two days a week, to see Cindy and to continue his ongoing training in Kumundu while receiving advice from the Teachers. This time, he had only spoken to Chael and Jathis for a few minutes before going to meet Cindy in her austere little monkish cell. She had listened to his story, entered his mind and informed him gravely that yes, someone with gralic powers had been tampering with his memory that day. But she thought there were a few tricks she could use to help.
They had slept together in her narrow hard bed, whispering in the dark for an hour before both falling asleep. Bane and Cindy did not always have sex when he visited, and this time she felt he needed healing and emotional rest as much as anything else. Now he was back in the real world where peace of the spirit was more a goal than a way of life.
Some of his teammates had teased him about the difficulty of having the most skilled telepath alive for a lover and partner. Sheng Mo-Yuan in particular said it must be impossible to have a relationship where no little helpful lie could get by. But, thought Bane, what did Sheng know? Sheng had never had more than three dates with the same woman in his life.
Bane took a few minutes to shave, wash up and change into a fresh shirt before leaving the building. As always, the twin silver daggers were strapped to his forearms with hilts out under his sleeves, and he packed the long-barreled Smith & Wesson .38 in a holster behind his left hip. But this time he also carried a surprise in his jacket pocket.
For the first week in November, it was unusually warm and humid out but Bane didn't notice. He was carrying his notebook with him, open to a new entry just in case. If he found himself wandering aimlessly around Manhattan, sooner or later he would notice the notebook and get back on course.
Delivery trucks and taxis going to pick up early risers began crowding the streets. A limo rolled by, packing with laughing and obliviously drunk partygoers finally going home. Bane came to Mosher's Deli and swung around to the side of the building. He had done his research before going to Tel Shai, had found Martin Mosher's address. The man was living in the same apartment where his parents had raised him, directly over the family business. But now, Bane angrily thought, he had an unwilling and unaware roommate staying there as well.
The narrow wooden door was unmarked. Although he had an advanced Trom device for instantly opening locks, the Dire Wolf took a moment to select an appropriate key from the leather burglar case he carried and had the door opened in a second. He had spent many hours learning how to pick locks silently and he wanted to start doing it as often as possible. Up a creaking flight of stairs to a single door that had a brass plate 2A, Bane sharpened his thoughts as tightly as he could. Now more than ever, he needed focus.
He knocked sharply with his knuckles. A disgruntled voice muttered, "What the hell..?" and the door opened. Martin Mosher stood there in slacks and a white sleeveless T-shirt, razor in hand and dabs of shaving cream dotting his doughy face. As soon as he saw the Dire Wolf, Mosher's face went pale.
Dizziness swept over Bane. For a second, he felt confused and wondered why he was here bothering this man. But he had always been stubborn. He drew himself up straighter and held up his brown leather billfold so Mosher could see his ID cards.
"This will only take a minute," he said. "I'm a private investigator working for the NYPD. You need to answer a few questions."
"No I don't! Get out of here! Leave me alone!" Mosher tried to slam the door shut, but Bane simply pressed with his free hand and sent the tubby man sprawling backwards onto the floor. The Dire Wolf stepped into a drab apartment with a distinct mildewy atmosphere, an empty pizza box and four beer bottles on the table in front of the couch.
Coming out of the kitchenette, drying her hands on a washcloth, Dandelion gasped audibly. "You again! You were in the shop yesterday."
"Hello, Mika," Bane said. Hearing her real name, Dandelion tilted her head and blinked furiously but said nothing.
Scrambling back up onto his feet, Mosher was sputtering so hard saliva flew. "How dare you! I'll kick your ass..."
"Be serious," Bane told him. "You'd wake up in the ER and not know what to tell the doctors. And stop trying to mess up my mind. I've had a subconscious command implanted to resist you and you can't begin to match her skill."
"Honey, call the cops," Mosher shouted. "911! Get the cops here right now."
"You have never needed the police, have you, Mika?"
This time, Dandelion repeated, "Mika...?"
Disregarding Mosher as if the man was no possible physical threat, Bane fixed those grey eyes on the woman. "So. Why do you hate Teacher Anulka so much?"
"Because that bitch had me thrown out of Tel Shai!" Dandelion snapped. "She decided I wasn't a noble little Girl Scout. I... What? Tel Shai?"
"It'll come back to you. Think about dandelions."
"Of course. Of course." The little blonde dropped the dish cloth without realizing it. "Oh my God."
Turning back to Martin Mosher, Bane changed his tone of voice to steel. "You haven't had your powers long, have you? You'd be doing more with them. You'd be living in a penthouse overlooking Central Park, I bet."
"Oh, I know about you," Mosher said, trying to control his rage. "The Dire Wolf. New York's vigilante. Cutting down monsters and serial killers and big-time crooks, that's what you're all about, aren't you?"
To herself, Dandelion whispered, "Jeremy."
"And you're right," Mosher continued. "I've been thinking about it. What would people pay to have happy memories that never happened? Or to completely forget traumatic experiences that have ruined their lives. My slogan will be, 'The best memories money can buy.' Oh, I'll be a millionaire right away."
Bane unobtrusively stuck both hands into his jacket pocket. The crucial moment was coming up fast. "I bet you've got bigger ideas than that. How about brainwashing spies for INTERCEPT or the Mandate? Making witnesses completely forget what they saw? Getting senators and governors to turn their agendas completely around overnight? Oh, being a millionaire would be only the beginning."
"And I'll start it all with you," the man said, smiling. "However you're resisting me, you can't keep it up for long. When I saw you come in the shop yesterday, I knew I'd have to get rid of you. I'm going to leave your brain as smooth and empty as a light bulb!"
"You can try." Bane turned his head back toward Dandelion. "How do you feel about being enslaved, Dandy?"
"I'm so confused. I can't think straight. Jeremy? Martin, what's going on?"
"Go back in the bedroom, honey," Mosher commanded. "Don't listen to this man. We've known each other for years. Remember all our good times."
"Good times that never happened," interrupted Bane.
"You shut up! I swear, you won't be know how to dress yourself when I'm done wiping your mind." Mosher narrowed his eyes, still breathing heavily, obviously ready to launch an attack.
"Not so easy when your victim is ready for you, is it?" Bane scoffed. "Here, Dandy, here's something you left behind the last time we met."
In less than a full second, Bane tossed something to Dandelion, who snatched it neatly out of the air. A low deep cough and a burst of white light were followed by Martin Mosher folding up at the knees and falling to the faded carpet. There was a red hole where his right eye had been an instant earlier.
"That's the Dandelion I know," Bane observed with striking casualness considering the sudden death.
Brandishing the compact Walther P22 with the tubelike silencer she handcrafted herself, the assassin made a growling noise and glared down at the body. "Goddam! The things he made me do! I thought I had dealt with perverts before! Jeremy, I sure owe you this time. We have to get out here."
"I doubt if any neighbors would identify that sput as a gunshot."
"No, we have to get out before I throw up my insides. I'm so disgusted. What's today?"
"November 3rd," he said.
"Oh. Well, that's not too bad I guess. He had me under his mindwarp for less than a week. Could be worse. Come on, let's go. Nothing here is mine. He had me wearing clothes his sister kept here."
Stepping past the body, Bane searched her expression. There was the confidence and insolence he remembered. "Won't the police be looking for you as a suspect?"
"Nah. Everything was off the books. No paperwork." Dandelion snatched up a light topcoat from the back of the couch and shrugged into it while heading for the apartment door. "That cheap bastard. He wasn't even paying me."
10/6/2021
11/2-11/3/2009
I.
Because of his enhanced metabolism, Jeremy Bane was always ravenous. The same Variance that gave him his lightning reflexes and peak motion also meant he burned up calories at a ferocious pace. At six feet even and one hundred and seventy pounds, the Dire Wolf ate enough for three bigger men.
Walking back down Third Avenue toward his office after a fruitless afternoon seeking leads on an extortion case, he decided not to wait for a late lunch. He swung into Mosher's Deli at the corner of 50th Street and immediately stepped to one side after entering. This was automatic procedure with him. A lifetime spent fighting the Midnight War had taught him to always be sure of exits, to determine if any people in the area were as possible threat, to watch for possible ambushes. He was barely aware of doing this, but it was a major factor in his still being alive.
Nothing significant had changed since he had last been in here two weeks ago. There was a middle-aged couple at the table toward the rear, a teenage boy standing by the counter eating a hot dog with everything, a stout woman balefully inspecting the luncheon meat assortment. Judging by their body language, the way their clothing fit, even the tightness in facial muscles, he decided none of them were armed. There was no threat in sight. Even Bane relaxed slightly.
Then he saw Dandelion at the cash register.
Long experience in the desperate game kept him from visibly reacting. The petite woman with a dramatic shock of platinum blonde hair was wearing a slightly stained apron over a regular blue polo shirt. She glanced up at him when he entered but showed no signs of recognition. This was more than unexpected. What was she up to? Bane waited while she took the teenage boy's money, gave him his change and told him to have a nice day with the lack of sincerity usual from service people
What was the most dangerous assassin of her generation doing working in a deli? Was she laying a trap for some target? Was she watching the routines of someone she had been hired to kill?
Well, he wouldn't give her away just yet. For all he knew, she was being watched by agents of the Mandate or STIGMA. Dandelion lived a life on the razor's edge even more than he did. Bane stepped up, gave her a slight nod in greeting. "Hi. I'd like a twelve inch sub. Ham and Swiss Cheese, pickle chips. Toasted, please."
"Anything to drink, sir?" she asked with complete diffidence. She gave him a second look. Bane knew he was a vivid figure in his all-black outfit of slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket, with those pale grey eyes beneath heavy black brows. It was an image he deliberately chose. He was used to people reacting exactly the way she was.
"Yeah, a big bottle of seltzer. Thank you."
"It'll be right up," she said, turning away and going back to the slicer where she was working on a roll of bologna. Bane watched her slipping a piece of wax paper between each slice with practiced dexterity. Over by the grill, a remarkably unattractive man was working on the sub.
Bane had seen Martin Mosher here many times. The son of the original owner, Mosher was in his mid-forties. Short, round about the middle, cursed with frizzy dark red hair and a large bald spot, he had not been gifted with good looks in any way. The big nose looked like a yam, and the mustache did nothing to camouflage that. Bane wondered if Mosher knew exactly who he had hired. Was he himself connected with the underworld or one of the dozen intelligence agencies that Dandy dealt with? The man seemed oblivious to everything except getting that sub assembled and toasted.
Dandelion folded the stack of bologna slices into cling film, placed it in the cooled display case and started taking the slicer apart. There was no doubt it was her, of course. Bane had known her for ten years, since they had been Tel Shai students and she had been expelled by the Teachers for reasons they never explained. Her special ability was incredible ambidextrous accuracy with any firearm. That marksmanship was literally supernatural. Bane himself would be at serious risk going up against her in a quick-draw confrontation.
What seemed ironic to him was that Dandelion did not look at all like a mercenary who killed for huge fees. With her delicate features and slight build, she seemed harmless but her career had proven otherwise. Mosher brought the sub over and Dandy peeled OFF her disposable gloves to take his money. As she handed over his change, their eyes met. For a second. Bane was alarmed at the complete lack of recognition in her gaze. Even for Dandelion, that was good acting.
"Thanks," he said in a casual tone as he could muster.
"Have a nice day," she replied the same way she spoke to every customer, going back to her disassembly of the slicer.
Intensely curious about the whole situation, Bane stepped back out in the unseasonably warm November afternoon and stood in front of the deli while he began working on the sub. Appropriately enough considering his trade name, he wolfed down half of it immediately and washed it down with a big gulp of the seltzer. As he began walking toward his office again, the Dire Wolf finished the sub and crumpled up the wrapper.
What should he do about her? He did not want Dandelion carrying out commissions on his territory. He really would have been happier if she had stayed out of New York City altogether but she never listened to anyone, least of all him. Bane decided he would walk past Mosher's Deli on the opposite side of the street a few times each day for a while to keep an eye on Dandy. He didn't think he should start eating there more often, he was too well known in the dark circles they both inhabited.
Getting close to 44th Street, the Dire Wolf felt he was still hungry. He should have stopped at Mosher's a minute ago...
Wait a minute. He was still holding the crumpled paper and the nearly empty bottle. He HAD been at the deli. There's where he had seen someone he knew. Bane stopped dead in his tracks and swung around to scowl in the direction of Mosher's. Dandelion! She had been working there. And she had shown no sign of knowing him.
This was strange. He never let his concentration wander like that. Why had he experienced that odd lapse? Bane's eyes were normally wary and even cold, but now they almost glittered with intensity. All his warning alarms were going off.
Nearing the four story yellow brick building at 44th, Bane broke into a near sprint through the double glass doors which hissed open automatically. He went past the EMERGENCY ONE CLINIC and down the short dead-end hallway by the staircase. A few seconds later, he dropped down behind his desk and yanked out a notebook from its wide top drawer. Writing as quickly as he could, the Dire Wolf put down what had just happened and then added the date and time.
That might help. He got up, used the tiny bathroom and washed his hands and then went back to his desk. Too bad he wasn't making any progress on that extortion case. His usual sources had been no help. The whole day had been a waste. He was reaching for the office phone when he noticed the notebook. Bane read the entry in his own handwriting, realized he had forgotten all about the Dandelion situation again and felt frightened for the first time in many years.
II.
At dawn the next morning, the office flashed a gorgeous sky blue as a flare of light exploded noiselessly in its open area. Bane appeared from nowhere and sat down in one of the chairs facing his desk. Using an Eldar travel crystal took more concentration and will power than most people could manage. Even after all his years of practice, it wasn't easy.
Exhaling with relief, he went over to unfasten the latches behind the waist-high bookcase and swung it around on hidden casters to reveal the shallow pit he had chiseled out himself. When the time came to close this office and retire, Bane realized he would have a real chore to fill it back in so no one would notice. Here in a trunk was kept his field suit, some weapons and talismans, and it was here that he carefully placed the tiny Eldar-crafted jewel into its box and dug around in the trunks to retrieve a heavy small bundle wrapped in a soft leather bag. He was glad now he had held onto the illegal item. He covered the pit over with the bookcase and felt that now at least he had a real plan underway.
Twelve hours at Tel Shai had lifted his spirits immensely. He went there at least two days a week, to see Cindy and to continue his ongoing training in Kumundu while receiving advice from the Teachers. This time, he had only spoken to Chael and Jathis for a few minutes before going to meet Cindy in her austere little monkish cell. She had listened to his story, entered his mind and informed him gravely that yes, someone with gralic powers had been tampering with his memory that day. But she thought there were a few tricks she could use to help.
They had slept together in her narrow hard bed, whispering in the dark for an hour before both falling asleep. Bane and Cindy did not always have sex when he visited, and this time she felt he needed healing and emotional rest as much as anything else. Now he was back in the real world where peace of the spirit was more a goal than a way of life.
Some of his teammates had teased him about the difficulty of having the most skilled telepath alive for a lover and partner. Sheng Mo-Yuan in particular said it must be impossible to have a relationship where no little helpful lie could get by. But, thought Bane, what did Sheng know? Sheng had never had more than three dates with the same woman in his life.
Bane took a few minutes to shave, wash up and change into a fresh shirt before leaving the building. As always, the twin silver daggers were strapped to his forearms with hilts out under his sleeves, and he packed the long-barreled Smith & Wesson .38 in a holster behind his left hip. But this time he also carried a surprise in his jacket pocket.
For the first week in November, it was unusually warm and humid out but Bane didn't notice. He was carrying his notebook with him, open to a new entry just in case. If he found himself wandering aimlessly around Manhattan, sooner or later he would notice the notebook and get back on course.
Delivery trucks and taxis going to pick up early risers began crowding the streets. A limo rolled by, packing with laughing and obliviously drunk partygoers finally going home. Bane came to Mosher's Deli and swung around to the side of the building. He had done his research before going to Tel Shai, had found Martin Mosher's address. The man was living in the same apartment where his parents had raised him, directly over the family business. But now, Bane angrily thought, he had an unwilling and unaware roommate staying there as well.
The narrow wooden door was unmarked. Although he had an advanced Trom device for instantly opening locks, the Dire Wolf took a moment to select an appropriate key from the leather burglar case he carried and had the door opened in a second. He had spent many hours learning how to pick locks silently and he wanted to start doing it as often as possible. Up a creaking flight of stairs to a single door that had a brass plate 2A, Bane sharpened his thoughts as tightly as he could. Now more than ever, he needed focus.
He knocked sharply with his knuckles. A disgruntled voice muttered, "What the hell..?" and the door opened. Martin Mosher stood there in slacks and a white sleeveless T-shirt, razor in hand and dabs of shaving cream dotting his doughy face. As soon as he saw the Dire Wolf, Mosher's face went pale.
Dizziness swept over Bane. For a second, he felt confused and wondered why he was here bothering this man. But he had always been stubborn. He drew himself up straighter and held up his brown leather billfold so Mosher could see his ID cards.
"This will only take a minute," he said. "I'm a private investigator working for the NYPD. You need to answer a few questions."
"No I don't! Get out of here! Leave me alone!" Mosher tried to slam the door shut, but Bane simply pressed with his free hand and sent the tubby man sprawling backwards onto the floor. The Dire Wolf stepped into a drab apartment with a distinct mildewy atmosphere, an empty pizza box and four beer bottles on the table in front of the couch.
Coming out of the kitchenette, drying her hands on a washcloth, Dandelion gasped audibly. "You again! You were in the shop yesterday."
"Hello, Mika," Bane said. Hearing her real name, Dandelion tilted her head and blinked furiously but said nothing.
Scrambling back up onto his feet, Mosher was sputtering so hard saliva flew. "How dare you! I'll kick your ass..."
"Be serious," Bane told him. "You'd wake up in the ER and not know what to tell the doctors. And stop trying to mess up my mind. I've had a subconscious command implanted to resist you and you can't begin to match her skill."
"Honey, call the cops," Mosher shouted. "911! Get the cops here right now."
"You have never needed the police, have you, Mika?"
This time, Dandelion repeated, "Mika...?"
Disregarding Mosher as if the man was no possible physical threat, Bane fixed those grey eyes on the woman. "So. Why do you hate Teacher Anulka so much?"
"Because that bitch had me thrown out of Tel Shai!" Dandelion snapped. "She decided I wasn't a noble little Girl Scout. I... What? Tel Shai?"
"It'll come back to you. Think about dandelions."
"Of course. Of course." The little blonde dropped the dish cloth without realizing it. "Oh my God."
Turning back to Martin Mosher, Bane changed his tone of voice to steel. "You haven't had your powers long, have you? You'd be doing more with them. You'd be living in a penthouse overlooking Central Park, I bet."
"Oh, I know about you," Mosher said, trying to control his rage. "The Dire Wolf. New York's vigilante. Cutting down monsters and serial killers and big-time crooks, that's what you're all about, aren't you?"
To herself, Dandelion whispered, "Jeremy."
"And you're right," Mosher continued. "I've been thinking about it. What would people pay to have happy memories that never happened? Or to completely forget traumatic experiences that have ruined their lives. My slogan will be, 'The best memories money can buy.' Oh, I'll be a millionaire right away."
Bane unobtrusively stuck both hands into his jacket pocket. The crucial moment was coming up fast. "I bet you've got bigger ideas than that. How about brainwashing spies for INTERCEPT or the Mandate? Making witnesses completely forget what they saw? Getting senators and governors to turn their agendas completely around overnight? Oh, being a millionaire would be only the beginning."
"And I'll start it all with you," the man said, smiling. "However you're resisting me, you can't keep it up for long. When I saw you come in the shop yesterday, I knew I'd have to get rid of you. I'm going to leave your brain as smooth and empty as a light bulb!"
"You can try." Bane turned his head back toward Dandelion. "How do you feel about being enslaved, Dandy?"
"I'm so confused. I can't think straight. Jeremy? Martin, what's going on?"
"Go back in the bedroom, honey," Mosher commanded. "Don't listen to this man. We've known each other for years. Remember all our good times."
"Good times that never happened," interrupted Bane.
"You shut up! I swear, you won't be know how to dress yourself when I'm done wiping your mind." Mosher narrowed his eyes, still breathing heavily, obviously ready to launch an attack.
"Not so easy when your victim is ready for you, is it?" Bane scoffed. "Here, Dandy, here's something you left behind the last time we met."
In less than a full second, Bane tossed something to Dandelion, who snatched it neatly out of the air. A low deep cough and a burst of white light were followed by Martin Mosher folding up at the knees and falling to the faded carpet. There was a red hole where his right eye had been an instant earlier.
"That's the Dandelion I know," Bane observed with striking casualness considering the sudden death.
Brandishing the compact Walther P22 with the tubelike silencer she handcrafted herself, the assassin made a growling noise and glared down at the body. "Goddam! The things he made me do! I thought I had dealt with perverts before! Jeremy, I sure owe you this time. We have to get out here."
"I doubt if any neighbors would identify that sput as a gunshot."
"No, we have to get out before I throw up my insides. I'm so disgusted. What's today?"
"November 3rd," he said.
"Oh. Well, that's not too bad I guess. He had me under his mindwarp for less than a week. Could be worse. Come on, let's go. Nothing here is mine. He had me wearing clothes his sister kept here."
Stepping past the body, Bane searched her expression. There was the confidence and insolence he remembered. "Won't the police be looking for you as a suspect?"
"Nah. Everything was off the books. No paperwork." Dandelion snatched up a light topcoat from the back of the couch and shrugged into it while heading for the apartment door. "That cheap bastard. He wasn't even paying me."
10/6/2021
