"With a Name Like Holden Magroin"
May. 22nd, 2022 10:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"With a Name Like Holden MaGroin"
5/22/2003
I.
At eleven that morning, Jeremy Bane was met in front of the station by Lt Montez and escorted down a hallway lined with doors that had frosted glass panels explaining whose offices they were. At the end of the corridor was an alcove with a coffee machine and two folding metal chairs. At the moment, one of those chairs was occupied by a plainclothes detective who was sipping the coffee and staring morosely at the floor. He stood up as he saw Montez approach.
"Getting anywhere, Steve?" asked the Lieutenant. Joseph Montez would have been a good-looking man if he could have kept his weight down. He had glossy black hair and good features including a perfect smile. But he never seemed to be able to keep the pounds off for long. Right now, he seemed to be hitting 270. "You've been chatting with her all morning."
"Sorry," said the man unhappily. He was an average looking man, just over six feet tall and fit-looking. His most distinguishing feature was a lantern jaw. "Nothing seems to work with her. Offer carrot or stick, she just seems unconcerned. She did make her phone call and of course we got the number."
"And..?"
"A hotel in Times Square. 43rd and Madison, not that bad a place. Room 991."
Montez nodded, then turned to Bane. "If no one comes for her, of course we'll send two men to see who's staying there. Right now, we're a little short-staffed."
The Dire Wolf seemed expressionless, but then he normally kept a poker face when dealing with the NYPD. Six feet tall and thin to the point of seeming almost gaunt, Bane was wearing his usual outfit of black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket. This was such a uniform for him that it would have unsettled people who knew him if he had shown up in colorful clothes.
"We might as well see if she's ready to talk," he said to Montez. Bane had cold grey eyes under heavy dark brows and he was intimidating without trying to be. "I'm not sure this is really a matter that falls in my territory."
"Wait and see," the Lieutenant answered, adjusting his belt in a futile attempt to be more comfortable. He opened a door that was not identified except with the number 4 and stepped through with Bane behind him. It was a standard interrogation room with a long table bolted to the floor and five of the metal folding chairs. One wall was taken up by the one-way mirror, the other side of which faced a darkened room where police could watch the suspects. There was also a painting opposite the door of a Western landscape for some reason.
The walls were covered with acoustic tile and, as the door clicked shut, the room was soundproofed. Montez heaved his bulk over and pulled out a chair facing where Sierra sat watching.
"Whoa, that poor chair," she said with a smirk. "Maybe you need a second one?"
Standing behind Montez, Bane took in details of the young woman instantly. From her accent, she had spent most of her life upstate. She was nineteen or twenty, a little over five foot eight and would weigh a hundred and twenty-two pounds. Sierra was a natural blonde, judging by the hairs visible on her bare arms, but that shaggy mane had been lightened with the contents of a bottle. Her eyes were dark blue with the shininess of youth, and her ears both were pierced with three holes. When she grinned, she showed good teeth except for one slightly crooked incisor. There was a faint white scar on the back of her left hand, mostly likely an old accident.
In an objective way, the Dire Wolf recognized she was very good-looking. Sierra had a babyface with plump cheeks and a soft chin, but her figure was exceptional. She was wearing cutoff jeans and a bright blue T-shirt, both too small for her, with apparently nothing under them. Bane did not react to her obvious sexy appeal, and he wasn't even aware that he didn't react. In some ways, he was so repressed and oblivious that he was unaware of it. He did reflect that the other strippers where she worked must resent her.
"So, you've had time to think, miss," Montez began.
"It's a good habit, you should try it," she interrupted.
He went on as if he hadn't heard her. "At nine-forty this morning, you rolled past a stop sign in full view of a police car. When you were pulled over, you had no registration or insurance papers for the car you were driving. Your license was valid, though."
"Hey, you wanna frisk me? Bet you'd enjoy it."
"And you were driving a new fire-engine red Maserati Ghibli. Those things start at a hundred thousand! You tell us it was a present."
"Men give me gifts, what can I say? I appeal to their paternal instincts." She turned her eyes over to Bane. "You've been quiet."
The Dire Wolf did not answer. He was watching her with his Kumundu training, judging the tension in her facial muscles, the subvocal tremors in her voice, the flicker of her eyelids. Beneath the wisecracks, she was seriously terrified. But of what, he wondered.
Seeing that Bane was not going to speak, Montez slapped a meaty palm on the table and went on. "Those are Italian plates on that car. That Maserati belongs to a CEO of a publishing house in Rome. How did you get possession of it?"
"How do you even find your thing to pee?" she asked. "My God, I thought my Uncle Ralph was fat but you..."
Now Bane stepped in, as Montez's face went red. He said sharply, "You're afraid of something, Sierra. What?"
"Me? What have I got to be afraid of? Maybe a zit before I go on stage."
There was a subdued knock on the door and the plainclothes Steve stuck just his head in. "Lieutenant, she has a visitor. He says he'll post whatever bail she wants."
"Holden! My hero," Sierra gushed as she jumped to her feet.
"You stay right there," grumbled Montez, pointing an accusatory finger. "Bail hasn't been set. You haven't even been formally charged yet. Steve, keep him out in the hall for right now."
As Montez struggled slightly to his feet, Sierra sang out, "Hey Steve, call for the crane!"
Bane moved over behind Sierra so he could watch both her and the people in the doorway at the same time. She leaned back her head and fluttered her eyelashes at him teasingly. The icy stare from those grey eyes seemed to unsettle her, though, and she settled down.
Standing in the doorway was a short, homely teenage boy in a extremely loud Hawaiian shirt and baggy cargo pants. He had a nose like a potato and an ugly haircut he seemed to have done himself with tinsnips. When he saw Sierra, he grinned lopsidedly. "Come on, babe, let's get out of here."
Just like that, Sierra vanished from the chair by the table and was standing next to the boy in the doorway. For the first time in many years, Bane's mouth fell open in shock.
II.
Immediately, the Dire Wolf whipped across the interrogation room and joined Montez in the doorway. Neither of them seemed to quite understand what had just happened and they were standing there blinking. Only Bane realized at once he had seen gralic ability in use.
"Holden, baby, you came for me," Sierra cooed in a voice that was laying it on way too thick. She was a few inches taller than the homely boy and when she put an arm around his shoulders, one soft breast was right in his face. "Let's agitate the pavement, what do you say?"
Watching the three men in the doorway, Holden shrugged. "No reason to stick around, Sierra. Come on. I've got a new car outside. Lamborghini." His voice was high and squeaky.
"Hold it!" bellowed Joseph Montez, raising a hand as he began marching toward them. "Neither of you are going anywhere until you answer some questions."
"You need to put your pants on," Holden laughed. He casually tossed a bulky mass of dark blue material to the floor in front of the lieutenant. They were dress pants with a 46-inch waist and keys jangled as they fell out of one pocket. Montez was standing there in red and white boxer shorts, too surprised and embarrassed to move.
Holden and Siera turned away and headed down the hallway for the front lobby. Montez had started to struggle back into his trousers as Steve watched and could not figure out how to react. It was Bane who pursued. He lunged for the couple and said, "Stop right there!"
The boy called Holden turned his head over his shoulder to grin. "I don't much like your attitude, mister. Sweeten up."
From the ceiling up by the fluorescent lights, gallons of dark brown fluid crashed down on Bane, knocking him to the floor. He had not been expecting such an impossible event and was caught entirely off balance. Viscous, sweet-smelling liquid covered him completely, and his eyes were stuck together by it.
"Order some French toast and start your day off right," Sierra giggled as they passed through the lobby. The sergeant at the front desk had been watching and he was too confused to detain them. He came around and stood staring down the hall.
By now, Montez had gotten his pants back on. He seemed at a loss until Bane managed to stand up and say, "How about a towel or something, boys?" Steve went into the nearby men's room and came out with a wet washcloth, which Bane used to at least get his eyes cleared. Maple syrup dripped off his body to join the puddle all around him.
"What just happened?" demanded Steve. "Where did all this gunk come from? It smells like... pancake syrup?"
"Steve! Get an APB on those two. Follow but do not apprehend. See if anyone saw that car he mentioned and include it!" Montez turned to Bane. "Come on, you. Over here. There's a shower room by the holding cell, sometimes prisoners come in really unbearable to where they're a health hazard." Montez led Bane into a plain concrete chamber with a drain hole in the floor and two high-powered nuzzles up above head level. On a shelf out of range of the water was a stack of rough towels. The Dire Wolf hosed himself down fully dressed; everything on his person was water-proof or in sealed pockets. It took a few minutes to get reasonably clean, then he started toweling off and squeezing water out of his clothes.
Watching from the doorway, Montez mumbled, "That was unexpected. I never had my pants off at work before. Well, that one Christmas party..."
"It's Midnight War, all right," Bane said as he seemed to getting dry enough to emerge. "Not the girl. That boy seems to be able to summon objects from somewhere so they appear near him."
"I don't get it," Montez said. "I wish I could say it has to be a trick."
"I wish it was a trick, too," Bane grumbled. "It's gonna be a challenge trying to catch him. At least he doesn't seem like he wants to hurt anyone."
The Lieutenant lowered his voice unconsciously. "A few things you need to know. We found out who owned that Maserati. Guy named Giancarlo Morrone, he lives just outside Rome. He reported the car missing yesterday afternoon.. after he drove it to work a few hours earlier!"
"Well, there you go." Bane tossed the sopping wet towel in a bin and brushed his wet hair with his fingers. "No way to get that car to Manhattan so quick by natural means. What's the deal with this Sierra?"
"Real name is Lindsay Bittman. Works at the Living Dolls place up by 109th Street, typical strip club. No prior arrests."
"I'm ready to get going," the Dire Wolf said. "Let's see what that kid Holden told the officer who let him in." At the front desk, they found that the strange looking boy had signed the register as "Holden MaGroin," and had a learner's permit in that name which he had used as identification.
"With a name like Holden MaGroin, I thought he was kidding," said the grizzled sergeant behind the counter. "But DMV issued him his permit that way. He looked harmless enough so I thought you'd want to see him."
"Yeah, thanks, Frank. You saw what happened?"
"Still can't believe it." The sergeant watched a grumbling janitor go by with a mop and a yellow push bucket of soapy water. "How could he do that?"
"He's got a lot of questions to answer." Seeing Steve returning, Montez said,"Everything underway?"
"Yes sir. Are we going to check that hotel?"
"Absolutely. Get my car up front. Detective Steven Lindquist, this is Jeremy Bane. You've heard of him. He's an expert on weird and unexplainable nonsense, like what just happened back there."
"Mr Bane," said Steve, holding out his hand, which the Dire Wolf shook. "I can't figure how that Holden kid did that stuff. That guy can't be for real. He's impossible." Turning away, he said, "I'll be up front."
III.
Getting out of his car on 43rd Street, Montez leaned over to where Steve was behind the wheel. "This may take a while. Find a parking spot near as you can, then come back and stay in the lobby. If those two come out, try to follow them."
"Gotcha, Lieutenant," Steve said as he eased out into traffic. Bane had emerged from the back seat and was waiting. His clothes were still damp and wrinkled, and a faint maple odor persisted. The Dire Wolf was annoyed by this but he had to admit there were worse substances that could have been dumped on him. Maybe this Holden MaGroin wasn't really malevolent, just self-centered.
Identifying himself at the front desk, Montez got one of the electronic keys for Room 991 but turned down the manager's attempt to accompany them. "We'll inform you what happens," Montez said. "We don't anticipate any violence."
Turning away, Bane headed for the marble staircase but Montez grabbed his arm. "What, are you kidding? Do I look like an athlete?" They went over to the elevators and rode up to the ninth floor.
"This kid, Holden MaGroin. Just turned eighteen a month ago," Montez explained. "His father is dead. He lives with his mother and is devoted to her. He's been looking for work but no luck yet. Kid's a nerd, plays a lot of video games, no one has ever heard of him materializing junk out of thin air."
"That's the phone call you got in the car?"
"Yeah. I asked the sergeant before we left to get some information. Basic stuff. MaGroin is the family's real name, God help them."
"Huh," Bane said non-commitally. "I'm starting to think that maybe Holden isn't the real threat here. A jaded stripper with him under her thumb might be more of a menace."
Montez snorted. "Yeah. I was considering that angle. Here we are, ninth floor."
As they checked the room numbers they were passing, Bane tried to come up with a plan for dealing with Holden. A power like that was almost impossible to fight. He supposed that, if someone's life was being threatened, he could just put a bullet in Holden's head faster than the kid could react but he saw no way to justify that. The boy hadn't hurt anyone physically. All he was doing was summoning objects from anywhere in the world... it might not even be theft in a legal sense because he didn't enter anyone's property or physically pick things up to take them. Not that a case like this would ever go to court.
In front of 991, Lt Montez put his hand on the service revolver he wore on his left side and slid the key card into the electronic slot. With a click, the door unlocked and he opened it hard, stepping through and barking, "Police! Nobody move."
Coming in behind him, Bane was floored by the amount of loot in that medium-sized hotel room. A gigantic flat-screen TV was showing cartoons. The couch was piled with expensive gowns in a heap three feet high. Scattered all over was jewelry, watches, cameras and stupid-looking shoes.
In the midst of all these expensive toys, Sierra sat at the small round table digging in a mundane box of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Next to her, Holden MaGroin put down a two-liter bottle of Dr Pepper and stifled a belch.
"You two are both under arrest," Montez announced, moving toward them.
"Oh come on, are you as dumb as you look?" Sierra had been spreading jam on a biscuit and now she took a dainty bite. "Do you want my man here to dump a hungry Siberian tiger on top of you?"
"I don't think you want to hurt anyone, Holden." Bane had stepped around in front of Montez, trying to make his voice less menacing than usual. "You just want a good time. Am I right?"
"Yeah, sure," the homely kid said. "You understand. I've been poor all my life and now I can enjoy any luxury I can think of. Who wouldn't have a party?"
"I can see that," the Dire Wolf said. He was holding his empty hands in plain view, using neutral body language. "But all these things belong to someone. Even if just a big chain store."
"Prove it," Holden said, picking up the soda again.
"Hell, that's easy enough." Montez moved to be in front again. "The three cars you stole. They have plates and VIN numbers. Holden MaGroin and Lindsay Bittman, you are both charged with Grand Theft Auto. Get up and come with us"
The stripper who called herself Sierra choked for a second on the biscuit. "Oh get real. Holden honey, maybe we should get out of here."
He gave her the dreamy out-of-focus smile of the truly smitten. "Sure. We can always summon all the stuff later. Let's go."
As he said that, the hotel room was suddenly filled with dozens of screaming green parrots. They were flying wildly in all directions, bumping into each other and screeching loud as fire sirens. It was impossible to hear anything else or to think straight. Despite the chaos, Bane shoved Montez down to the floor. He had seen an African Grey bite through a man's index finger once. The Dire Wolf rushed through the swirling mass of panic-stricken birds, arms up over his head, and got to the windows. He yanked them both up and dropped to the floor himself.
It took a few minutes before enough of the birds had flown out of the room that he thought it safe to get up. Damn. In a life full of unbelievable experiences, today was getting to be a record-breaker. He vaguely realized that his damp and still slightly sticky clothing now had green feathers decorating it. He couldn't see any droppings on himself but there likely were some. He must look like a refugee from some disaster.
Rising up, he found Sierra and Holden long gone, as he had expected. Montez had gotten up and was sitting in a chair but seemed to be in some distress. Bane could clearly hear the lieutenant's wheezing. "Montez... Joe? Are you okay?"
"Yeah. I got an allergy. I'll be fine." The big man got to his feet, but he was holding his chest and obviously uncomfortable. He stepped out into the hall and Bane helped him into the elevator.
"You have any medicine you take?" the Dire Wolf asked as they rode down.
"No. I usually just stay away from birds." Montez was wheezing and short of breath, and Bane was suddenly genuinely afraid for the first time in years. In the lobby, they found Steve waiting. "I'm double parked-" he began.
"The lieutenant is having an allergy attack," Bane said. The two of them helped the weakly resisting Montez outside and into his car. "Take him to the nearest ER. I think he needs oxygen and maybe a shot or something, I'm no doctor."
"What about you?" Montez managed to ask.
Bane closed the door on him and clapped the roof of the car. "Just get going. I'm staying on the chase."
After the car pulled away, Bane started heading north at almost a run. A few times, he tried to flag down a taxi but the drivers kept going after getting a look at him. Cursing under his breath, he began brushing off the parrot feathers as he walked, but he still looked a mess. Finally, he got cleaned up enough that a cab stopped for him and he gave the driver the address of the Living Dolls club.
V.
Holden had summoned a mint 1957 Chevy from somewhere and he forgot about it completely as he abandoned it next to a NO PARKING sign on 108th Street. He would just get new cars as he needed them. Even though he had said he would be gone all afternoon, he couldn't stop thinking of Sierra. Maybe he could summon plane tickets to Paris or Hawaii and take her there. He didn't want her back at this dive. He regretted giving in and dropping her off here.
The building on the corner had tinted dark windows on the ground floor with LIVING DOLLS - BEST ENTERTAINMENT FOR GENTLEMEN, a listing of the hours and a silhouette of a naked woman apparently swinging on a rope. Holden sighed unhappily. Even though he had met Sierra here when he first discovered his powers, he didn't like to think about all the men who had seen her naked. Holden was sheltered enough that the idea she had given many lap dances or full service never occured to him. He opened the door and stepped into a huge dim room that stank of cigarette smoke, sweat and perfume. Seated at the bar to his right, nursing a gin and 7-up was a woman in a short tight dress covered with glitter. The curly red hair and heavy make-up could not hide that she was pushing fifty and fifty was not resisting.
"We're not open yet," she announced. "Come back at three. Or when you're a few years older, Jeez look at you."
Holden MaGroin quietly said, "I'm here to pick up Sierra."
"Ah. Well. Sorry, can't help you. We open at three, come back then."
Moving closer to her, the apport held up his empty hand and somehow placed three fifty dollar bills on the bar next to her. "I dropped Sierra off here not a half hour ago. I want to see her."
Staring at the money, the redhead finally conceded. "She's in the office. Talking to the manager, but you can't go in there, son."
"Thank you." Holden walked to the back of the strip club, past the elevated stage and the VIP lounge that was an enclosed area not much larger than a closet. At the rear were two doors, one made of green-painted metal with a horizontal bar across it and a sign EXIT EMERGENCY ONLY. Next to it was a regular wooden door with a plate that read PRIVATE. Holden rapped sharply with his knuckles.
"Go away," yelled a man's voice. A feminine giggle followed a second later, and Holden felt a cold pang in his chest. Suddenly he was holding a big sledge hammer and raising it back behind him. The weight was almost too much for his underdeveloped muscles but he crashed the hammer against the door and the lock snapped. The door slammed inward, Holden dropped the hammer and stepped into the office.
Sierra was sitting on a desk piled with loose papers, her shirt on the floor. Kissing the side of her neck and kneading her breasts was a tall good-looking man in khaki pants and a polo shirt. Her hands remained at the zipper of his pants as they both gaped at Holden's entrance.
"Who the hell are you? Get going, dummy-" was all the manager said before a barbell with three hundred pounds of weights fell on him from nowhere. It broke his collarbone and pinned him face up on the floor. The man moaned in agony, trying to breathe and unable to even wiggle.
"Sierra," whispered Holden in a tiny voice.
"Oh, honey, thank God you came here! He was trying to force me, he was too strong, I tried fighting him..."
"Stop it," the kid said. "I heard you laugh. I saw what you were doing."
Suddenly her mood switched. She swung her legs around so she was sitting on the desk facing him, naked from the waist up. "Honestly, Holden, you have to believe me."
"No. I don't." The homely face had dropped into an expressionless mask. "You were just using me."
"Well, what you expect?" she snapped. "I've been seeing Mark for a year, we're tight. You show up with this supernatural power that can give me anything I ask for, what do you expect me to do?" She slid off the desk and picked her T-shirt up off the floor to start tugging it on. "I'm not going to pass up a gold mine,"
Holden held up his right hand and abruptly it was filled with a 1911 Colt 45 automatic. He aimed it straight at her face. "I trusted.." he said before his voice cracked. "I trusted you, Sierra. I thought you liked me."
"Oh be serious. Look at me. Look at you." She stood with her fists on her hips and cocked her head to the side. "My God, how naive are you?"
Holden extended his arm to full length. "Goodbye, my love."
From behind him, a hard voice said, "Your mother will see this on the news."
Swinging his head around, Holden blinked at seeing Bane there. "You? Again? What the hell?"
"Is that how you want your mother to remember you? Holden, stop," said the Dire Wolf. "No one will ever love you more than your mother does and you are about to break her heart. She wants to see you live, to go to college, maybe get married someday and give her some grandchildren. Is this what you want to do to her? You have to stop."
The youth threw the gun away and his face crumpled up with his eyes squeezing shut. "Don't look at me," he mumbled and ran out of the office.
Before following, Bane crouched and lifted the barbell up off the pinned man, using his legs rather than his back. The Dire Wolf touched the manager's chest gingerly. "Call for an ambulance. This guy's got some damage." Then he left the stupefied Sierra behind as he rushed through the club and out to the street door.
Outside, Bane found Holden MaGroin sitting on the top step outside the door. He was bent over and crying so hard his whole body shook with it. Sitting down next to the weeping boy, Bane surprised himself by wrapping a comforting arm around Holden's pudgy shoulders. "I'll tell you a secret," he said in a low voice, "Something that took me most of my life to learn."
Holden wiped his face and looked over. "What?"
"We need emotions," Bane said. "It hurts... because it matters."
3/27/2016
5/22/2003
I.
At eleven that morning, Jeremy Bane was met in front of the station by Lt Montez and escorted down a hallway lined with doors that had frosted glass panels explaining whose offices they were. At the end of the corridor was an alcove with a coffee machine and two folding metal chairs. At the moment, one of those chairs was occupied by a plainclothes detective who was sipping the coffee and staring morosely at the floor. He stood up as he saw Montez approach.
"Getting anywhere, Steve?" asked the Lieutenant. Joseph Montez would have been a good-looking man if he could have kept his weight down. He had glossy black hair and good features including a perfect smile. But he never seemed to be able to keep the pounds off for long. Right now, he seemed to be hitting 270. "You've been chatting with her all morning."
"Sorry," said the man unhappily. He was an average looking man, just over six feet tall and fit-looking. His most distinguishing feature was a lantern jaw. "Nothing seems to work with her. Offer carrot or stick, she just seems unconcerned. She did make her phone call and of course we got the number."
"And..?"
"A hotel in Times Square. 43rd and Madison, not that bad a place. Room 991."
Montez nodded, then turned to Bane. "If no one comes for her, of course we'll send two men to see who's staying there. Right now, we're a little short-staffed."
The Dire Wolf seemed expressionless, but then he normally kept a poker face when dealing with the NYPD. Six feet tall and thin to the point of seeming almost gaunt, Bane was wearing his usual outfit of black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket. This was such a uniform for him that it would have unsettled people who knew him if he had shown up in colorful clothes.
"We might as well see if she's ready to talk," he said to Montez. Bane had cold grey eyes under heavy dark brows and he was intimidating without trying to be. "I'm not sure this is really a matter that falls in my territory."
"Wait and see," the Lieutenant answered, adjusting his belt in a futile attempt to be more comfortable. He opened a door that was not identified except with the number 4 and stepped through with Bane behind him. It was a standard interrogation room with a long table bolted to the floor and five of the metal folding chairs. One wall was taken up by the one-way mirror, the other side of which faced a darkened room where police could watch the suspects. There was also a painting opposite the door of a Western landscape for some reason.
The walls were covered with acoustic tile and, as the door clicked shut, the room was soundproofed. Montez heaved his bulk over and pulled out a chair facing where Sierra sat watching.
"Whoa, that poor chair," she said with a smirk. "Maybe you need a second one?"
Standing behind Montez, Bane took in details of the young woman instantly. From her accent, she had spent most of her life upstate. She was nineteen or twenty, a little over five foot eight and would weigh a hundred and twenty-two pounds. Sierra was a natural blonde, judging by the hairs visible on her bare arms, but that shaggy mane had been lightened with the contents of a bottle. Her eyes were dark blue with the shininess of youth, and her ears both were pierced with three holes. When she grinned, she showed good teeth except for one slightly crooked incisor. There was a faint white scar on the back of her left hand, mostly likely an old accident.
In an objective way, the Dire Wolf recognized she was very good-looking. Sierra had a babyface with plump cheeks and a soft chin, but her figure was exceptional. She was wearing cutoff jeans and a bright blue T-shirt, both too small for her, with apparently nothing under them. Bane did not react to her obvious sexy appeal, and he wasn't even aware that he didn't react. In some ways, he was so repressed and oblivious that he was unaware of it. He did reflect that the other strippers where she worked must resent her.
"So, you've had time to think, miss," Montez began.
"It's a good habit, you should try it," she interrupted.
He went on as if he hadn't heard her. "At nine-forty this morning, you rolled past a stop sign in full view of a police car. When you were pulled over, you had no registration or insurance papers for the car you were driving. Your license was valid, though."
"Hey, you wanna frisk me? Bet you'd enjoy it."
"And you were driving a new fire-engine red Maserati Ghibli. Those things start at a hundred thousand! You tell us it was a present."
"Men give me gifts, what can I say? I appeal to their paternal instincts." She turned her eyes over to Bane. "You've been quiet."
The Dire Wolf did not answer. He was watching her with his Kumundu training, judging the tension in her facial muscles, the subvocal tremors in her voice, the flicker of her eyelids. Beneath the wisecracks, she was seriously terrified. But of what, he wondered.
Seeing that Bane was not going to speak, Montez slapped a meaty palm on the table and went on. "Those are Italian plates on that car. That Maserati belongs to a CEO of a publishing house in Rome. How did you get possession of it?"
"How do you even find your thing to pee?" she asked. "My God, I thought my Uncle Ralph was fat but you..."
Now Bane stepped in, as Montez's face went red. He said sharply, "You're afraid of something, Sierra. What?"
"Me? What have I got to be afraid of? Maybe a zit before I go on stage."
There was a subdued knock on the door and the plainclothes Steve stuck just his head in. "Lieutenant, she has a visitor. He says he'll post whatever bail she wants."
"Holden! My hero," Sierra gushed as she jumped to her feet.
"You stay right there," grumbled Montez, pointing an accusatory finger. "Bail hasn't been set. You haven't even been formally charged yet. Steve, keep him out in the hall for right now."
As Montez struggled slightly to his feet, Sierra sang out, "Hey Steve, call for the crane!"
Bane moved over behind Sierra so he could watch both her and the people in the doorway at the same time. She leaned back her head and fluttered her eyelashes at him teasingly. The icy stare from those grey eyes seemed to unsettle her, though, and she settled down.
Standing in the doorway was a short, homely teenage boy in a extremely loud Hawaiian shirt and baggy cargo pants. He had a nose like a potato and an ugly haircut he seemed to have done himself with tinsnips. When he saw Sierra, he grinned lopsidedly. "Come on, babe, let's get out of here."
Just like that, Sierra vanished from the chair by the table and was standing next to the boy in the doorway. For the first time in many years, Bane's mouth fell open in shock.
II.
Immediately, the Dire Wolf whipped across the interrogation room and joined Montez in the doorway. Neither of them seemed to quite understand what had just happened and they were standing there blinking. Only Bane realized at once he had seen gralic ability in use.
"Holden, baby, you came for me," Sierra cooed in a voice that was laying it on way too thick. She was a few inches taller than the homely boy and when she put an arm around his shoulders, one soft breast was right in his face. "Let's agitate the pavement, what do you say?"
Watching the three men in the doorway, Holden shrugged. "No reason to stick around, Sierra. Come on. I've got a new car outside. Lamborghini." His voice was high and squeaky.
"Hold it!" bellowed Joseph Montez, raising a hand as he began marching toward them. "Neither of you are going anywhere until you answer some questions."
"You need to put your pants on," Holden laughed. He casually tossed a bulky mass of dark blue material to the floor in front of the lieutenant. They were dress pants with a 46-inch waist and keys jangled as they fell out of one pocket. Montez was standing there in red and white boxer shorts, too surprised and embarrassed to move.
Holden and Siera turned away and headed down the hallway for the front lobby. Montez had started to struggle back into his trousers as Steve watched and could not figure out how to react. It was Bane who pursued. He lunged for the couple and said, "Stop right there!"
The boy called Holden turned his head over his shoulder to grin. "I don't much like your attitude, mister. Sweeten up."
From the ceiling up by the fluorescent lights, gallons of dark brown fluid crashed down on Bane, knocking him to the floor. He had not been expecting such an impossible event and was caught entirely off balance. Viscous, sweet-smelling liquid covered him completely, and his eyes were stuck together by it.
"Order some French toast and start your day off right," Sierra giggled as they passed through the lobby. The sergeant at the front desk had been watching and he was too confused to detain them. He came around and stood staring down the hall.
By now, Montez had gotten his pants back on. He seemed at a loss until Bane managed to stand up and say, "How about a towel or something, boys?" Steve went into the nearby men's room and came out with a wet washcloth, which Bane used to at least get his eyes cleared. Maple syrup dripped off his body to join the puddle all around him.
"What just happened?" demanded Steve. "Where did all this gunk come from? It smells like... pancake syrup?"
"Steve! Get an APB on those two. Follow but do not apprehend. See if anyone saw that car he mentioned and include it!" Montez turned to Bane. "Come on, you. Over here. There's a shower room by the holding cell, sometimes prisoners come in really unbearable to where they're a health hazard." Montez led Bane into a plain concrete chamber with a drain hole in the floor and two high-powered nuzzles up above head level. On a shelf out of range of the water was a stack of rough towels. The Dire Wolf hosed himself down fully dressed; everything on his person was water-proof or in sealed pockets. It took a few minutes to get reasonably clean, then he started toweling off and squeezing water out of his clothes.
Watching from the doorway, Montez mumbled, "That was unexpected. I never had my pants off at work before. Well, that one Christmas party..."
"It's Midnight War, all right," Bane said as he seemed to getting dry enough to emerge. "Not the girl. That boy seems to be able to summon objects from somewhere so they appear near him."
"I don't get it," Montez said. "I wish I could say it has to be a trick."
"I wish it was a trick, too," Bane grumbled. "It's gonna be a challenge trying to catch him. At least he doesn't seem like he wants to hurt anyone."
The Lieutenant lowered his voice unconsciously. "A few things you need to know. We found out who owned that Maserati. Guy named Giancarlo Morrone, he lives just outside Rome. He reported the car missing yesterday afternoon.. after he drove it to work a few hours earlier!"
"Well, there you go." Bane tossed the sopping wet towel in a bin and brushed his wet hair with his fingers. "No way to get that car to Manhattan so quick by natural means. What's the deal with this Sierra?"
"Real name is Lindsay Bittman. Works at the Living Dolls place up by 109th Street, typical strip club. No prior arrests."
"I'm ready to get going," the Dire Wolf said. "Let's see what that kid Holden told the officer who let him in." At the front desk, they found that the strange looking boy had signed the register as "Holden MaGroin," and had a learner's permit in that name which he had used as identification.
"With a name like Holden MaGroin, I thought he was kidding," said the grizzled sergeant behind the counter. "But DMV issued him his permit that way. He looked harmless enough so I thought you'd want to see him."
"Yeah, thanks, Frank. You saw what happened?"
"Still can't believe it." The sergeant watched a grumbling janitor go by with a mop and a yellow push bucket of soapy water. "How could he do that?"
"He's got a lot of questions to answer." Seeing Steve returning, Montez said,"Everything underway?"
"Yes sir. Are we going to check that hotel?"
"Absolutely. Get my car up front. Detective Steven Lindquist, this is Jeremy Bane. You've heard of him. He's an expert on weird and unexplainable nonsense, like what just happened back there."
"Mr Bane," said Steve, holding out his hand, which the Dire Wolf shook. "I can't figure how that Holden kid did that stuff. That guy can't be for real. He's impossible." Turning away, he said, "I'll be up front."
III.
Getting out of his car on 43rd Street, Montez leaned over to where Steve was behind the wheel. "This may take a while. Find a parking spot near as you can, then come back and stay in the lobby. If those two come out, try to follow them."
"Gotcha, Lieutenant," Steve said as he eased out into traffic. Bane had emerged from the back seat and was waiting. His clothes were still damp and wrinkled, and a faint maple odor persisted. The Dire Wolf was annoyed by this but he had to admit there were worse substances that could have been dumped on him. Maybe this Holden MaGroin wasn't really malevolent, just self-centered.
Identifying himself at the front desk, Montez got one of the electronic keys for Room 991 but turned down the manager's attempt to accompany them. "We'll inform you what happens," Montez said. "We don't anticipate any violence."
Turning away, Bane headed for the marble staircase but Montez grabbed his arm. "What, are you kidding? Do I look like an athlete?" They went over to the elevators and rode up to the ninth floor.
"This kid, Holden MaGroin. Just turned eighteen a month ago," Montez explained. "His father is dead. He lives with his mother and is devoted to her. He's been looking for work but no luck yet. Kid's a nerd, plays a lot of video games, no one has ever heard of him materializing junk out of thin air."
"That's the phone call you got in the car?"
"Yeah. I asked the sergeant before we left to get some information. Basic stuff. MaGroin is the family's real name, God help them."
"Huh," Bane said non-commitally. "I'm starting to think that maybe Holden isn't the real threat here. A jaded stripper with him under her thumb might be more of a menace."
Montez snorted. "Yeah. I was considering that angle. Here we are, ninth floor."
As they checked the room numbers they were passing, Bane tried to come up with a plan for dealing with Holden. A power like that was almost impossible to fight. He supposed that, if someone's life was being threatened, he could just put a bullet in Holden's head faster than the kid could react but he saw no way to justify that. The boy hadn't hurt anyone physically. All he was doing was summoning objects from anywhere in the world... it might not even be theft in a legal sense because he didn't enter anyone's property or physically pick things up to take them. Not that a case like this would ever go to court.
In front of 991, Lt Montez put his hand on the service revolver he wore on his left side and slid the key card into the electronic slot. With a click, the door unlocked and he opened it hard, stepping through and barking, "Police! Nobody move."
Coming in behind him, Bane was floored by the amount of loot in that medium-sized hotel room. A gigantic flat-screen TV was showing cartoons. The couch was piled with expensive gowns in a heap three feet high. Scattered all over was jewelry, watches, cameras and stupid-looking shoes.
In the midst of all these expensive toys, Sierra sat at the small round table digging in a mundane box of Kentucky Fried Chicken. Next to her, Holden MaGroin put down a two-liter bottle of Dr Pepper and stifled a belch.
"You two are both under arrest," Montez announced, moving toward them.
"Oh come on, are you as dumb as you look?" Sierra had been spreading jam on a biscuit and now she took a dainty bite. "Do you want my man here to dump a hungry Siberian tiger on top of you?"
"I don't think you want to hurt anyone, Holden." Bane had stepped around in front of Montez, trying to make his voice less menacing than usual. "You just want a good time. Am I right?"
"Yeah, sure," the homely kid said. "You understand. I've been poor all my life and now I can enjoy any luxury I can think of. Who wouldn't have a party?"
"I can see that," the Dire Wolf said. He was holding his empty hands in plain view, using neutral body language. "But all these things belong to someone. Even if just a big chain store."
"Prove it," Holden said, picking up the soda again.
"Hell, that's easy enough." Montez moved to be in front again. "The three cars you stole. They have plates and VIN numbers. Holden MaGroin and Lindsay Bittman, you are both charged with Grand Theft Auto. Get up and come with us"
The stripper who called herself Sierra choked for a second on the biscuit. "Oh get real. Holden honey, maybe we should get out of here."
He gave her the dreamy out-of-focus smile of the truly smitten. "Sure. We can always summon all the stuff later. Let's go."
As he said that, the hotel room was suddenly filled with dozens of screaming green parrots. They were flying wildly in all directions, bumping into each other and screeching loud as fire sirens. It was impossible to hear anything else or to think straight. Despite the chaos, Bane shoved Montez down to the floor. He had seen an African Grey bite through a man's index finger once. The Dire Wolf rushed through the swirling mass of panic-stricken birds, arms up over his head, and got to the windows. He yanked them both up and dropped to the floor himself.
It took a few minutes before enough of the birds had flown out of the room that he thought it safe to get up. Damn. In a life full of unbelievable experiences, today was getting to be a record-breaker. He vaguely realized that his damp and still slightly sticky clothing now had green feathers decorating it. He couldn't see any droppings on himself but there likely were some. He must look like a refugee from some disaster.
Rising up, he found Sierra and Holden long gone, as he had expected. Montez had gotten up and was sitting in a chair but seemed to be in some distress. Bane could clearly hear the lieutenant's wheezing. "Montez... Joe? Are you okay?"
"Yeah. I got an allergy. I'll be fine." The big man got to his feet, but he was holding his chest and obviously uncomfortable. He stepped out into the hall and Bane helped him into the elevator.
"You have any medicine you take?" the Dire Wolf asked as they rode down.
"No. I usually just stay away from birds." Montez was wheezing and short of breath, and Bane was suddenly genuinely afraid for the first time in years. In the lobby, they found Steve waiting. "I'm double parked-" he began.
"The lieutenant is having an allergy attack," Bane said. The two of them helped the weakly resisting Montez outside and into his car. "Take him to the nearest ER. I think he needs oxygen and maybe a shot or something, I'm no doctor."
"What about you?" Montez managed to ask.
Bane closed the door on him and clapped the roof of the car. "Just get going. I'm staying on the chase."
After the car pulled away, Bane started heading north at almost a run. A few times, he tried to flag down a taxi but the drivers kept going after getting a look at him. Cursing under his breath, he began brushing off the parrot feathers as he walked, but he still looked a mess. Finally, he got cleaned up enough that a cab stopped for him and he gave the driver the address of the Living Dolls club.
V.
Holden had summoned a mint 1957 Chevy from somewhere and he forgot about it completely as he abandoned it next to a NO PARKING sign on 108th Street. He would just get new cars as he needed them. Even though he had said he would be gone all afternoon, he couldn't stop thinking of Sierra. Maybe he could summon plane tickets to Paris or Hawaii and take her there. He didn't want her back at this dive. He regretted giving in and dropping her off here.
The building on the corner had tinted dark windows on the ground floor with LIVING DOLLS - BEST ENTERTAINMENT FOR GENTLEMEN, a listing of the hours and a silhouette of a naked woman apparently swinging on a rope. Holden sighed unhappily. Even though he had met Sierra here when he first discovered his powers, he didn't like to think about all the men who had seen her naked. Holden was sheltered enough that the idea she had given many lap dances or full service never occured to him. He opened the door and stepped into a huge dim room that stank of cigarette smoke, sweat and perfume. Seated at the bar to his right, nursing a gin and 7-up was a woman in a short tight dress covered with glitter. The curly red hair and heavy make-up could not hide that she was pushing fifty and fifty was not resisting.
"We're not open yet," she announced. "Come back at three. Or when you're a few years older, Jeez look at you."
Holden MaGroin quietly said, "I'm here to pick up Sierra."
"Ah. Well. Sorry, can't help you. We open at three, come back then."
Moving closer to her, the apport held up his empty hand and somehow placed three fifty dollar bills on the bar next to her. "I dropped Sierra off here not a half hour ago. I want to see her."
Staring at the money, the redhead finally conceded. "She's in the office. Talking to the manager, but you can't go in there, son."
"Thank you." Holden walked to the back of the strip club, past the elevated stage and the VIP lounge that was an enclosed area not much larger than a closet. At the rear were two doors, one made of green-painted metal with a horizontal bar across it and a sign EXIT EMERGENCY ONLY. Next to it was a regular wooden door with a plate that read PRIVATE. Holden rapped sharply with his knuckles.
"Go away," yelled a man's voice. A feminine giggle followed a second later, and Holden felt a cold pang in his chest. Suddenly he was holding a big sledge hammer and raising it back behind him. The weight was almost too much for his underdeveloped muscles but he crashed the hammer against the door and the lock snapped. The door slammed inward, Holden dropped the hammer and stepped into the office.
Sierra was sitting on a desk piled with loose papers, her shirt on the floor. Kissing the side of her neck and kneading her breasts was a tall good-looking man in khaki pants and a polo shirt. Her hands remained at the zipper of his pants as they both gaped at Holden's entrance.
"Who the hell are you? Get going, dummy-" was all the manager said before a barbell with three hundred pounds of weights fell on him from nowhere. It broke his collarbone and pinned him face up on the floor. The man moaned in agony, trying to breathe and unable to even wiggle.
"Sierra," whispered Holden in a tiny voice.
"Oh, honey, thank God you came here! He was trying to force me, he was too strong, I tried fighting him..."
"Stop it," the kid said. "I heard you laugh. I saw what you were doing."
Suddenly her mood switched. She swung her legs around so she was sitting on the desk facing him, naked from the waist up. "Honestly, Holden, you have to believe me."
"No. I don't." The homely face had dropped into an expressionless mask. "You were just using me."
"Well, what you expect?" she snapped. "I've been seeing Mark for a year, we're tight. You show up with this supernatural power that can give me anything I ask for, what do you expect me to do?" She slid off the desk and picked her T-shirt up off the floor to start tugging it on. "I'm not going to pass up a gold mine,"
Holden held up his right hand and abruptly it was filled with a 1911 Colt 45 automatic. He aimed it straight at her face. "I trusted.." he said before his voice cracked. "I trusted you, Sierra. I thought you liked me."
"Oh be serious. Look at me. Look at you." She stood with her fists on her hips and cocked her head to the side. "My God, how naive are you?"
Holden extended his arm to full length. "Goodbye, my love."
From behind him, a hard voice said, "Your mother will see this on the news."
Swinging his head around, Holden blinked at seeing Bane there. "You? Again? What the hell?"
"Is that how you want your mother to remember you? Holden, stop," said the Dire Wolf. "No one will ever love you more than your mother does and you are about to break her heart. She wants to see you live, to go to college, maybe get married someday and give her some grandchildren. Is this what you want to do to her? You have to stop."
The youth threw the gun away and his face crumpled up with his eyes squeezing shut. "Don't look at me," he mumbled and ran out of the office.
Before following, Bane crouched and lifted the barbell up off the pinned man, using his legs rather than his back. The Dire Wolf touched the manager's chest gingerly. "Call for an ambulance. This guy's got some damage." Then he left the stupefied Sierra behind as he rushed through the club and out to the street door.
Outside, Bane found Holden MaGroin sitting on the top step outside the door. He was bent over and crying so hard his whole body shook with it. Sitting down next to the weeping boy, Bane surprised himself by wrapping a comforting arm around Holden's pudgy shoulders. "I'll tell you a secret," he said in a low voice, "Something that took me most of my life to learn."
Holden wiped his face and looked over. "What?"
"We need emotions," Bane said. "It hurts... because it matters."
3/27/2016
