"Indigo the Illusionist"
May. 23rd, 2022 09:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Indigo the Illusionist"
11/21/1994
The doorbell rang. Jeremy Bane turned with one foot on the stairs and raised an eyebrow. He had been planning on a workout in the gym on the seventh floor and he had no appointments. This might be much more interesting.
Bane was a gaunt, dangerous-looking man with short black hair and intimidating pale grey eyes. He was wearing his usual uniform of black slacks and long-sleeved turtleneck, but the sport jacket had been left in his office for the moment. As the bell rang again, he strode quickly to the door and thumbed the intercom button. "I'll be there in a second," he said, and heard a familiar gruff voice reply, "Fine."
Swinging open a wooden panel set at eye level, he activated the monitor screen and saw what the street camera was sending. He studied the two people standing on the steps outside. One was a frequent visitor, a short, dark man with grizzled curly hair and a thick unlit cigar clamped in a bulldog mouth. Inspector Harold Klein. He did not recognize the other man. The Dire Wolf hit a button on the control panel that opened the outer door and said, "Come in."
The two visitors stepped into a vestibule that was just big enough to hold them and maybe one other person. There was a bench, a shelf with a ceramic lamp and some magazines, and an oil painting on the wall of Kenneth Dred himself. For twenty seconds, there was faint buzzing and humming noises as advanced Trom sensors scanned the men more thoroughly than any CAT scan or MRI. Bane saw that Klein was carrying his usual Smith & Wesson Detective Special, handcuffs, folding jackknife. The other man did not have anything resembling a weapon, analysis showed no unusual chemical signature and the yellow letters flashed ID UNCONFIRMED. So he wasn't listed in any files that the KDF had tapped into.
Bane closed the panel with a click and opened the inner door. "Morning, Inspector."
"Hiya Bane," came the reply in a real New York City accent. He kept his beige raincoat on, as he did even on the hottest days and as he had done since it had been new and white, but his companion shrugged out his heavy topcoat. Bane took the coat and hung it on the rack to the left as one faced the door.
"Got any cases on the fire?" Klein asked.
"It's been slow lately. Back in the old days, there'd be bodies all over this place."
The inspector pointed a thumb at the other man. "This is Erle Granger. Erle, this is Jeremy Bane. Some call him the Dire Wolf.He used to be a ghostbuster and monster hunter, now he's settled down as a private detective. He's good. If anyone can help you, Bane's the one."
Bane shook the offered hand and took in his visitor. Granger was a good-sized man in his sixties, broad-shouldered and well-dressed, with dark blond hair that was turning grey and a double chin well under way. He gazed back at Bane the uneasy way he would look at a real wolf that was growling at him.
"Let's go into the office," the Dire Wolf said, "and you can explain what brings you here, Mr Granger." He led the two of them across the hall to what had been the reception room in the KDF days, which he now used as his detective agency office. The tall narrow windows were curtained. There was a couch with a coffee table in front of it, and on the left wall was a waist-high bookcase containing law and other reference volumes. On top of that bookcase was a fishtank containing bizarre creatures from Ulgor. Bane went to dropped down behind his desk, motioning for Klein and Granger to seat themselves in the leatherbound straightback chairs in front of it.
"When are you gonna get some ashtrays in here?" the inspector grumbled.
"I'm not. Okay, Mr Granger, I'm listening."
"I hope you can help me," the man began, "God knows no one else has been of any use. I've known Harold here for many years, we were neighbors as kids and it was his suggestion to come see you. I realize that you are now a licensed PI. But it's your earlier career that I am more interested in. Up until a few years ago, you headed the Kenneth Dred Foundation. My hobby is the supernatural, the inexplicable, the weird events that never make the news, and I followed your KDF with great interest."
Bane did not seem pleased by this. "Go on."
"I'm agnostic and pretty much a materialist," Granger said. "I enjoyed speculating and researching but I think deep down I didn't really believe anything superatural was true.... until I met Indigo."
II.
Suddenly a new gleam came into the grey eyes as Bane sat up. "Indigo? The Illusionist?"
"Yes. I gather you know him?"
"Only by reputation. I've heard some wild tales and they don't seem to add up. Tell me everything."
Erle Granger unbuttoned his jacket and leaned forward. "I've been having problems with my partner at our investment firm. Douglas Hartman. I've suspected him for some time of using company funds for his own projects. I've been told he's been in dubious company. Borderline underworld types. But I didn't want Hartman to know my suspicions. Someone told me about Indigo and I decided to give him a try."
Here Klein interrupted, "Lissen Bane, you know about weirdos. Just who is this Indigo joker? My office can't seem to give me a straight answer."
"He's a strange one," the Dire Wolf said slowly. "For years, he made a good living as a stage magician. He played Las Vegas and all over Europe, with illusions no one could explain. But there's a dark side to him. He's been implicated in murders and other crimes. Sometimes he helps the police, sometimes he's suspected of covering up for the criminals. He's a wild card in the game."
Klein grunted, "Remind you of anyone?"
Ignoring that, Bane continued, "I've kept a file on him out of curiosity but our paths never crossed and I had no real reason to investigate him. When the KDF was active, we heard a lot of rumours about Indigo."
"I managed to contact him." Granger sighed. "He lives in quite a plush estate up in White Plains. He has a henchman, I don't know if you know that. A huge black thug named Hector. A few days after I met with him, Indigo came to me with more than enough evidence against Hartman. Not only had Hartman been diverting funds from our firm, he was involved with drug smuggling and child pornography. I found it hard to believe. Almost impossible, in fact. But I paid Indigo what we had agreed on and asked him not to discuss it with anyone and I haven't heard from him since."
Bane waiting, sensing the payoff was coming.
"A week later, the police called me at five in the morning. Hartman had driven out to the eastern shore of Long Island and shot himself in the head. He had left an emotional note about his innocence and how someone had faked evidence to ruin his life."
Inspector Klein cut in again, "I read the reports. It was ruled a suicide. Hartman had driven out to a beach and there were no footprints near where his car was parked. Earlier that day, he had withdrawn ten thousands dollars from his account and he had been seen standing on a street corner a few hours earlier, talking to a man in a Lincoln."
"Blackmail," growled Bane. "I hate blackmailers."
"So someone had confronted him with the evidence of his nefarious deeds and threatened to make it public," Klein said. "What name pops into your head?"
"Indigo, of course. I suspect he got so much evidence so quickly because it was bogus. Crooked business deals, drug running AND child porn? That's overkill. You questioned Indigo, I suppose?" Bane asked.
"And got nowhere. He's smooth and quick with answers. This magician has been wriggling out of investigations all over Europe and America for years. So far no one has been able to pin him down." Klein looked up, and added, "Not that that would stop me from trying."
"I've seen you stay on the trail," said Bane. "You're a bloodhound."
"But I know my limits. Hate to admit them. I brought Erle here to see you because I'm sure Indigo is part of your world, Bane. The Midnight War. The things that come out in the middle of the night when the sane world sleeps. Things that can never be mentioned in any reports."
"I know," Bane said. "You've seen the monsters and maniacs I've nailed." He suddenly got up and began to pace the office as the two men turned in their chairs to watch. With his enhanced metabolism, it was difficult for the Dire Wolf to sit still and now he was getting worked up. "None of which has gone down on paper, and that's fine with me. As long as we get the job done."
"We've already said too much. Back to the business at hand."
The Wolf realized he was making them swivel to keep up with him, and with an effort, he went back behind his desk. "My conclusion is that Indigo has some sort of paranormal ability. There are just too many reports of him doing strange illusions where he could not have prepared beforehand or had any assistants. I asked Vegas venues where he appeared and stage managers admit the man brought no props, no trick set-ups, no hidden gimmicks. The man has powers of some kind and he's misusing them."
"That means he's in your territory," Klein said. This close, it could be seen that his left eye was glass and there was some scarring around the socket. "So I guess we roused your interest?"
"Oh yes," Bane answered. "But first, what's my agenda here? Am I working for Mr Granger or am I just sticking my neck out for a thrill or civic duty or what?"
Erle Granger pulled a billfold and pen from his inner jacket pocket. "I want to engage your services myself. Doug Hartman may have been playing loose with company funds but he was a good partner and I think basically a good man. That stuff about drug smuggling and child porn just doesn't ring true at all. He certainly did not deserve to be blackmailed and shamed so much that he took his own life because he couldn't deal with the lies. I want the man responsible caught and punished. If it is Indigo, then I brought him into this and I feel resonsible."
The Dire Wolf took a ledger from the center drawer of his desk. "Make out a check for one thousand dollars."
"That's it? What about expenses? What if this goes on for a while?"
"It's just a formality," Bane said. "If I didn't charge anything, I couldn't claim you as a client, which gives me some leverage dealing with the police and the courts."
Granger handed him the check, Bane wrote out a receipt and gave it to the man, then stowed the check inside the ledger which he returned to the drawer. "Now I can claim a certain amount of confidentiality. Inspector, you've been quiet. I know that look. You have something to point me in the right direction?"
"About Indigo? Nah. You know more than I do at this point."
Studying the worry that Granger was trying to conceal, Bane said, "I'm on the case as of right now. Inspector, I'll call as developments happen. Mr Granger, I promise you results. You'll hear from soon." He stood up and the two men followed his cue. After he escorted them to the front door, the Dire Wolf watched on the monitor as they went down the steps to the street and headed toward Klein's personal car. A predatory grin flickered for a bare instant across Bane's narrow face. Indigo!
He spun on his heel and trotted up the stairs to the second floor. Here was the conference room that had been the command center for the KDF in many battles of the Midnight War. The long oak table still stood where the knights of Tel Shai had assembled. Bane thumbed on the overhead lights and crossed to the row of dark green metal filing cabinets which took up much of one wall. Cindy had been scanning these files and uploading them into the computer records but there was much left to enter. He found the folder he wanted and took it over to the chair at the head of the table to refresh his memory.
Indigo's real name was Marco Decolta, born in Corsica in 1939. That would make him 55. He first came to public notice as a stage magician in Paris in 1961. For years, he toured Europe with his act, presenting illusions that other magicians could not match or explain. But from the start, there had been unsavory rumors about him. Indigo had been reported in the company of gangsters and smugglers, even political terrorists. He was persistently linked to murders and larceny, yet nothing could ever be proved. The police of six countries watched him suspiciously, yet were helpless to pin anything on him.
Bane re-read the file more slowly. He noticed that the crimes associated with Indigo had become gradually bigger and more violent. The FBI had investigated while the Illusionist was playing Las Vegas for a few years. There had also been trouble with the IRS that was being held at bay by expensive lawyers.
Then he found a note stuck in the bottom of the folder that caught his full attention. It was from Michael Hawk, a founding member of the KDF and one of Bane's most influential teachers. Hawk had died ten years earlier in the war with the Snake men, and it gave Bane a twinge to read this handwritten note from a friend long gone.
Hawk had been watching Indigo for years, and he had concluded that Indigo was more than just a show business conjurer. He thought that the man was able to cast illusions directly into peoples' mind, so realistic that no one could tell them from reality. Hawk had intended to propose that the KDF tackle this criminal at some point, but he warned that foresight and preparation would be necessary.
"Thanks, Mike," Bane said out loud. He turned to the final page of the file, which was about Indigo's partner. Hector Ramon was from Jamaica, a heavyweight boxer with an undistinguished record who had turned to bodyguard work. He had been charged with assault twice but not convicted. According to the police stats, he was six foot four and two hundred and seventy pounds, he would now be forty-one years old. Hector had been traveling with Indigo for nine years.
Bane returned the file to its place and began to pace. Here was just what he had been looking for. A week without even a hint of a case had left him itchy. After the KDF had disbanded in 1990, he had opened his detective agency on a full-time basis to keep busy, but it had not been satisfying. Bane had never known peace. He was a restless spirit that thrived in high-stress situations. Abruptly, he turned and left the room, snapping off the lights as he went out the door.
Heading down the stairs to his rooms on the first floor, he felt once again how ridiculous it was that this ten-story building, with its millions of dollars worth of equipment, was standing idle. With Cindy spending more time at Tel Shai, he was often the only person here. After the hellish Final Halloween, when so many of his friends had died or been broken in Necropolis, he had disbanded the KDF and declared they had sacrificed enough. But the years went by. Lately, he had been finding the idea of a new KDF, a team with new members, seemed the only fitting occupants for this building. Once the idea of a new team got in his thoughts, he had not been able to dismiss it.
In his office, he opened a locked drawer of the desk and took out one of the anesthetic dart guns, holstering it behind his left hip. He was already wearing the silk-thin Trom armor under his clothes and as always had the matched silver daggers strapped to his forearms under his sleeves. On a case like this, he would not be wearing the full field suit with its helmet and extra weaponry. He gave up some protection and firepower to be less conspicuous. Bane stopped by the control panel at the front door and checked that the building was sealed with all alarms on and defenses up.
Going through a panel in the back of a walk-in closet, the Dire Wolf hurried down concrete steps and along a narrow passage. Unlocking the door to the arsenal, which held everything from shotguns to claymores to throwing stars, he opened a crate and took out two metal ovoids the size of eggs, pocketing them. Then it was through a plain wooden door into an underground garage just big enough to hold two cars. He chose the two-year-old Buick Regal, which had been outfitted with Kevlar panels and bulletproof glass. He pulled up the ramp with its sharp turn at the top and eased out onto Lexington. For the first time in almost two weeks, he felt fully alive again.
III.
As he neared his destination, Bane pulled into a roadside diner. Once the action started, he might be on the go indefinitely. Ordering an omelette with hash browns and wheat toast, with apple juice and ice water, the Dire Wolf ate and thought. He pulled out a few maps he had taken from a bundle in the trunk of his car and studied them carefully. He located Indigo's address and memorized the roads around it. This was habit with him now. Many times he had been able to pursue an enemy or to escape capture himself because he had taken the time to get the battlefield clear in his mind.
Back on the road, he found Indigo's estate, set back on a hill with a few acres behind it. There was a three-story house with an attached garage. A circular driveway led up to the building, but there were no gates or obvious cameras. Bane wondered about the lack of security and decided it meant Indigo was confident in his own protection. Pulling up in front of the portico, he had to admit the mansion was well-kept. The shrubbery and lawn were beyond criticism, the paint and trim were fresh, the windows sparkled in the afternoon sunlight.
Bane got out, locking his car automatically, and as he put a foot on the bottom step, the seven foot high door swung outward. Filling the opening was Hector. He had known that the henchman would be big, but this was still impressive. Hector was wearing a dark brown suit with a tan shirt and black tie, complete with a vest and cuff links that matched his tie pin. After a second's appraisal, Bane lowered his estimation of the man... Hector had overdeveloped his chest and arms to the point where he was out of proportion for best fighting. The man's neck was thicker than his head.
The bodyguard was medium dark in skin tone, with a shaved head and a gold earring on the left. The boxing career had not left any signs on nose or ears, and Hector was actually good-looking in a sullen way. He glared down at Bane without welcome.
The Dire Wolf kept moving up the seven steps. "Let's get this over with. I'm here to see Indigo."
"The Master is not receiving anyone," Hector said with just a trace of accent.
"The Master...?! Oh come on, how can you say that with a straight face? Look, easy way or hard way, I'm coming in. It's up to you."
Something in the quiet confidence of Bane's voice seemed to reach Hector. He said, "Wait here," and closed the door but Bane immediately opened it again and followed him in. The huge bodyguard gave him a murderous stare but kept moving down the hallway. The Dire Wolf remained in a foyer and glanced around. He allowed himself a faint smile. Tough guys used to annoy him but after slugging it out with the likes of Seth Petrov or Venom, a weightlifter in a suit and tie seemed downright harmless. He began to look around. He realized his observation skills were not developed enough to be first rate detective. Michael Hawk could have turned around once in this foyer and rattled off twenty conclusions about the person who lived here, but Bane knew his own usefulness was when the fighting started.
He checked out the landscape on the wall to his left, a watercolor of what looked like the misty hills of Scotland. There were two shelves beneath it with a row of small trophy cups for fencing and a framed photograph of a young couple with two small boys, standing on a seashore. Indigo's family? A bronze statuette of a rearing horse completed the display. Bane could not see any theme, and he didn't see where this told him anything useful about the Illusionist.
As Bane was pondering, Hector turned the corner and said, "Come with me," in a stiff tone just short of outright fury. The Dire Wolf followed the big man, and decided that Hector needed to more stretching. Those hamstrings were tight. But it was better not to mention it. The bodyguard opened a dark polished door, stood to one side, and announced, "Jeremy Bane, sir."
III.
The den was cozy and warm, with a log burning in the fireplace. Seating in an overstuffed leather chair by the flames, Indigo held a snifter of brandy in one hand. He glanced up as Bane entered but did not rise. The man looked younger than his years. The sleek black hair, combed straight back, had no grey in it and the jawline was firm. With a pencil-thin mustache beneath an acquiline nose and sharp dark eyes, Indigo resembled a 1930s movie star. He wore a plum-colored smoking jacket over white dress shirt and black slacks, with slippers completing the picture of elegance.
The magician sniffed the brandy. "I appreciate it when visitors have the courtesy to make an appointment."
"We don't have time for that," Bane answered as he dropped down into a matching chair on the other side of the fireplace. "I assume you know a little about me."
"Oh yes. The notorious Dire Wolf. I have always had some curiosity about you, Mr Bane. So few white knights left in this tarnished world."
"Let's get to business. I'll toss a name at you. Douglas Hartman."
Indigo made no reply. Even Bane's trained eye could not spot a flicker of reaction. "You might have heard that he killed himself," the Wolf went on. "He was being blackmailed and couldn't handle it. Even worse, my feeling is that he was being squeezed for crimes he didn't do in the first place. One of my own magic tricks is finding blackmailers and making them disappear."
The Illusionist raised an eyebrow. "Ah, I see. You want my help. I'm sorry, my days of assisting the police to capture criminals are behind me. It was depressing work. Often my efforts were unappreciated.
"You can help capture this criminal," said Bane evenly, "by signing a confession."
Not a trace of response showed on the bland face. "Really. You'll have to do better than that. You can't seriously think that I would lower myself to criminal activity. I am retired. My aim is to spend my life in study and reflection."
Bane's grey eyes flashed in the firelight. "No one is fooled by your act. The FBI is watching you right now. Their Department 21 Black is itching for you to make a slip. Back in Europe, Interpol has a file on you thick as a phone book. You're a crook, Indigo. Everyone knows you're a crook with pretensions of being a gentleman."
That did it. Anger swept over the mask of a face. Indigo's gestured with one hand and a huge black bat shot out from it across the room straight at Bane. Faster than any normal Human, the Dire Wolf whipped one of the silver daggers from beneath his sleeve and jabbed it out so the oncoming beast would impale itself. But instead the bat just vanished like a candle flame going out.
The two enemies regarded each other for a second with new appraisal. Bane knew now that Indigo did have some power of casting realistic illusions. He would have sworn that was a real bat lunging for his throat. For his part, Indigo was staring with unease at his visitor. The dagger had jumped into the man's grip so quickly he had not been able to follow the motion. He was suddenly aware he was facing a dangerous man.
"That's a cute trick," the Dire Wolf snorted as he slid the dagger back under his sleeve. "Too bad you're a villain, I would have liked to have someone with that power on my team." He stood up and took a step toward the magician. "I can see you're going to make this difficult. How about I write out the confession and you just sign it, would that be simpler?"
"I can do better than that!" Indigo snapped. "I'll tell whatever you want to know. Why not? Yes, I was extorting money from Hartman. He was a weak-minded fool. He shot himself because I made him think he had symptoms of a terrible disease. I've killed dozens of people. Do you remember the case of William Cutler, the surgeon? I wanted his wife for a few days. So I made him think the road ahead of him was straight when in fact it curved past a cliff eighty feet straight down. I've enjoyed hundreds of women who thought it was their husband making love to them when it was me behind an illusion. Ha! I've looted museums and galleries, I've caused riots and mass panic. Why not? What do laws meant for ordinary people meant to me?!"
"This is terrific," Bane said. "Give me a few more. What about Louise Kemble Wilson, the reporter for THE WASHINGTON POST? Did you cause her death,too?"
"Yes. Absolutely. She was following me, listening to my phone calls, going through my garbage for evidence. I made her see a huge pit bull chasing her in her driveway. Her heart attack was not by chance."
"Okay, maybe one more. Using your powers is fine, but give me something I can get a conviction on. Did you ever use a gun? A knife?"
The Illusionist rose to his full height, putting the brandy down on a sidetable. "Why not? Why not tease you with the knowledge? Do you remember last year when the billionaire Aubrey Carnwright was murdered? I did that. I used his own pistol from his desk drawer and walked away past a dozen witnesses who ignored me because they were staring at the house next door burning... except there was no fire. As soon as I was gone, the fire vanished and the fools finally noticed the body!"
"Master," said Hector uneasily, "is this wise?"
"Please, my old friend. Let me flaunt my deeds just once. This man has no evidence, certainly nothing to take to a court. What I have told him is just words in the air."
With a barely visible smile, Bane removed a device from his inner jacket pocket and thumbed a contact patch. "You got all that, inspector?"
"Clear as a bell," came the recognizable voice of Inspector Klein. "Even the video came through. I'm sending officers now."
Replacing the Link to his pocket, Bane said, "That was Inspector Harold Klein, Homicide Division,NYPD. Thanks for bragging, Indigo. With those names you gave, the investigations can be re-opened. We'll see you sipping your brandy in the prison cafeteria."
With an effort that left his face purple, Indigo controlled himself. "Hector! Take him!"
The giant Jamaican seized Bane from behind but caught an elbow to the sternum that cracked the bone. The Dire Wolf had been tracking the big black man and knew where he would be coming from. Swinging around, Bane blasted a blurring left cross that swung violently around to crash against the wall and fall over a low table that held a phone and some papers. From the way he landed, it seemed clear the bodyguard would not be getting up anytime soon.
"Impressive," sniffed Indigo as he rose from his chair. "I've seen Hector take on three bruisers at a time."
"You can take a swing at me," Bane offered. "There's still time to rough you up before the cops get here."
"What, fight? Like a common brawler? I think not."
Suddenly, fire rushed over Bane, big yellow flames that ran up his arms and legs. The Dire Wolf cried out involuntarily and slapped at himself before catching on. There was no heat, no pain. Still wrapped in crackling fire, he lowered his hands slowly. "You're a cute one," he said.
Abruptly, the illusion changed and he found snakes crawling all over him. A red and black coral snake slid around his neck, and he saw a rattler tighten on his arm. But he could not feel them. They were not really there.
"This is rich," he said. "What next? Can you make me look like a skeleton? Or make me think I'm six inches tall? Give it up, Indigo. Once someone knows it's just a trick, your illusions can't do any harm."
The magician nodded slowly. "Not many people have your presence of mind." The air shimmered and suddenly there were half a dozen identical Indigos standing in that room. All exactly alike, each in the same dressing down.
"I will be leaving now," they all said at the same time. "We will meet once more, Dire Wolf. But you won't know it. You'll drive into a tree that looks like the open road, you will step in front of a truck that looks like empty air. And I will be there laughing. There is no protection against my art!"
"You're not the only one with tricks," Bane said quietly. He yanked the two metal eggs from his side pocket, twisted the tabs and threw them hard to the floor. In an instant, pressurized black smoke gushed out to fill the room. The pall was impenetrable, it stung the eyes and had an acrid aroma. Even the light from the fireplace was blotted out.
From within the darkness, the Dire Wolf said, "Try an illusion now."
Indigo coughed from the irritation of the smoke, and that was all Bane needed. He lunged across the room, got hold of an arm and yanked the man into an elbow strike that rocked his head back as far as it could go. The magician sagged limply. The Wolf lowered him to the floor and handcuffed right ankle to left wrist. This was a favorite tactic, something the police were not allowed to do. Getting out of that room and starting to cough himself, he left the door open and went down the hall to fling open the door to outside, then found a window and lifted that as well. Even so, it would be ten or fifteen minutes before the smoke dissipated.
Standing in the doorway for a moment, Bane glanced down at his left hand. There was a gash across the knuckles. I must have hit a tooth, he thought, and got a small adhesive strip from inside his jacket and pressed it down. Compared to some cases where he had emerged more dead than alive, this one had been a breeze.
Going back inside, he found he could see well enough to roll Indigo over to where Hector was lying. The big Jamaican was beginning to mumble and shift around. Before he could revive, Bane yanked out the man's shoelaces and tied his wrists and ankles together. Then he plopped down in Indigo's overstuffed chair and settled back.
He hadn't mentioned it to Inspector Klein, but he was sure the FBI would claim custody of Indigo, and that meant Department 21 Black would take over. Indigo had a better chance to seeing daylight again if he went to court, but 21 Black would want to study his illusion powers for years to see if they could replicate them. He imagined someone would always be watching the magician on closed-circuit monitors which wouldn't be affected by any illusions. Bane shrugged. The man deserved whatever happened to him.
Outside, he saw the flashing lights as two patrol cars pulled up. Now came the questions and more questions, filling reports and signing statements, being available for a possible court date. The Dire Wolf missed the days he had just slipped away secretly before all the paperwork.
3/29/2014
11/21/1994
The doorbell rang. Jeremy Bane turned with one foot on the stairs and raised an eyebrow. He had been planning on a workout in the gym on the seventh floor and he had no appointments. This might be much more interesting.
Bane was a gaunt, dangerous-looking man with short black hair and intimidating pale grey eyes. He was wearing his usual uniform of black slacks and long-sleeved turtleneck, but the sport jacket had been left in his office for the moment. As the bell rang again, he strode quickly to the door and thumbed the intercom button. "I'll be there in a second," he said, and heard a familiar gruff voice reply, "Fine."
Swinging open a wooden panel set at eye level, he activated the monitor screen and saw what the street camera was sending. He studied the two people standing on the steps outside. One was a frequent visitor, a short, dark man with grizzled curly hair and a thick unlit cigar clamped in a bulldog mouth. Inspector Harold Klein. He did not recognize the other man. The Dire Wolf hit a button on the control panel that opened the outer door and said, "Come in."
The two visitors stepped into a vestibule that was just big enough to hold them and maybe one other person. There was a bench, a shelf with a ceramic lamp and some magazines, and an oil painting on the wall of Kenneth Dred himself. For twenty seconds, there was faint buzzing and humming noises as advanced Trom sensors scanned the men more thoroughly than any CAT scan or MRI. Bane saw that Klein was carrying his usual Smith & Wesson Detective Special, handcuffs, folding jackknife. The other man did not have anything resembling a weapon, analysis showed no unusual chemical signature and the yellow letters flashed ID UNCONFIRMED. So he wasn't listed in any files that the KDF had tapped into.
Bane closed the panel with a click and opened the inner door. "Morning, Inspector."
"Hiya Bane," came the reply in a real New York City accent. He kept his beige raincoat on, as he did even on the hottest days and as he had done since it had been new and white, but his companion shrugged out his heavy topcoat. Bane took the coat and hung it on the rack to the left as one faced the door.
"Got any cases on the fire?" Klein asked.
"It's been slow lately. Back in the old days, there'd be bodies all over this place."
The inspector pointed a thumb at the other man. "This is Erle Granger. Erle, this is Jeremy Bane. Some call him the Dire Wolf.He used to be a ghostbuster and monster hunter, now he's settled down as a private detective. He's good. If anyone can help you, Bane's the one."
Bane shook the offered hand and took in his visitor. Granger was a good-sized man in his sixties, broad-shouldered and well-dressed, with dark blond hair that was turning grey and a double chin well under way. He gazed back at Bane the uneasy way he would look at a real wolf that was growling at him.
"Let's go into the office," the Dire Wolf said, "and you can explain what brings you here, Mr Granger." He led the two of them across the hall to what had been the reception room in the KDF days, which he now used as his detective agency office. The tall narrow windows were curtained. There was a couch with a coffee table in front of it, and on the left wall was a waist-high bookcase containing law and other reference volumes. On top of that bookcase was a fishtank containing bizarre creatures from Ulgor. Bane went to dropped down behind his desk, motioning for Klein and Granger to seat themselves in the leatherbound straightback chairs in front of it.
"When are you gonna get some ashtrays in here?" the inspector grumbled.
"I'm not. Okay, Mr Granger, I'm listening."
"I hope you can help me," the man began, "God knows no one else has been of any use. I've known Harold here for many years, we were neighbors as kids and it was his suggestion to come see you. I realize that you are now a licensed PI. But it's your earlier career that I am more interested in. Up until a few years ago, you headed the Kenneth Dred Foundation. My hobby is the supernatural, the inexplicable, the weird events that never make the news, and I followed your KDF with great interest."
Bane did not seem pleased by this. "Go on."
"I'm agnostic and pretty much a materialist," Granger said. "I enjoyed speculating and researching but I think deep down I didn't really believe anything superatural was true.... until I met Indigo."
II.
Suddenly a new gleam came into the grey eyes as Bane sat up. "Indigo? The Illusionist?"
"Yes. I gather you know him?"
"Only by reputation. I've heard some wild tales and they don't seem to add up. Tell me everything."
Erle Granger unbuttoned his jacket and leaned forward. "I've been having problems with my partner at our investment firm. Douglas Hartman. I've suspected him for some time of using company funds for his own projects. I've been told he's been in dubious company. Borderline underworld types. But I didn't want Hartman to know my suspicions. Someone told me about Indigo and I decided to give him a try."
Here Klein interrupted, "Lissen Bane, you know about weirdos. Just who is this Indigo joker? My office can't seem to give me a straight answer."
"He's a strange one," the Dire Wolf said slowly. "For years, he made a good living as a stage magician. He played Las Vegas and all over Europe, with illusions no one could explain. But there's a dark side to him. He's been implicated in murders and other crimes. Sometimes he helps the police, sometimes he's suspected of covering up for the criminals. He's a wild card in the game."
Klein grunted, "Remind you of anyone?"
Ignoring that, Bane continued, "I've kept a file on him out of curiosity but our paths never crossed and I had no real reason to investigate him. When the KDF was active, we heard a lot of rumours about Indigo."
"I managed to contact him." Granger sighed. "He lives in quite a plush estate up in White Plains. He has a henchman, I don't know if you know that. A huge black thug named Hector. A few days after I met with him, Indigo came to me with more than enough evidence against Hartman. Not only had Hartman been diverting funds from our firm, he was involved with drug smuggling and child pornography. I found it hard to believe. Almost impossible, in fact. But I paid Indigo what we had agreed on and asked him not to discuss it with anyone and I haven't heard from him since."
Bane waiting, sensing the payoff was coming.
"A week later, the police called me at five in the morning. Hartman had driven out to the eastern shore of Long Island and shot himself in the head. He had left an emotional note about his innocence and how someone had faked evidence to ruin his life."
Inspector Klein cut in again, "I read the reports. It was ruled a suicide. Hartman had driven out to a beach and there were no footprints near where his car was parked. Earlier that day, he had withdrawn ten thousands dollars from his account and he had been seen standing on a street corner a few hours earlier, talking to a man in a Lincoln."
"Blackmail," growled Bane. "I hate blackmailers."
"So someone had confronted him with the evidence of his nefarious deeds and threatened to make it public," Klein said. "What name pops into your head?"
"Indigo, of course. I suspect he got so much evidence so quickly because it was bogus. Crooked business deals, drug running AND child porn? That's overkill. You questioned Indigo, I suppose?" Bane asked.
"And got nowhere. He's smooth and quick with answers. This magician has been wriggling out of investigations all over Europe and America for years. So far no one has been able to pin him down." Klein looked up, and added, "Not that that would stop me from trying."
"I've seen you stay on the trail," said Bane. "You're a bloodhound."
"But I know my limits. Hate to admit them. I brought Erle here to see you because I'm sure Indigo is part of your world, Bane. The Midnight War. The things that come out in the middle of the night when the sane world sleeps. Things that can never be mentioned in any reports."
"I know," Bane said. "You've seen the monsters and maniacs I've nailed." He suddenly got up and began to pace the office as the two men turned in their chairs to watch. With his enhanced metabolism, it was difficult for the Dire Wolf to sit still and now he was getting worked up. "None of which has gone down on paper, and that's fine with me. As long as we get the job done."
"We've already said too much. Back to the business at hand."
The Wolf realized he was making them swivel to keep up with him, and with an effort, he went back behind his desk. "My conclusion is that Indigo has some sort of paranormal ability. There are just too many reports of him doing strange illusions where he could not have prepared beforehand or had any assistants. I asked Vegas venues where he appeared and stage managers admit the man brought no props, no trick set-ups, no hidden gimmicks. The man has powers of some kind and he's misusing them."
"That means he's in your territory," Klein said. This close, it could be seen that his left eye was glass and there was some scarring around the socket. "So I guess we roused your interest?"
"Oh yes," Bane answered. "But first, what's my agenda here? Am I working for Mr Granger or am I just sticking my neck out for a thrill or civic duty or what?"
Erle Granger pulled a billfold and pen from his inner jacket pocket. "I want to engage your services myself. Doug Hartman may have been playing loose with company funds but he was a good partner and I think basically a good man. That stuff about drug smuggling and child porn just doesn't ring true at all. He certainly did not deserve to be blackmailed and shamed so much that he took his own life because he couldn't deal with the lies. I want the man responsible caught and punished. If it is Indigo, then I brought him into this and I feel resonsible."
The Dire Wolf took a ledger from the center drawer of his desk. "Make out a check for one thousand dollars."
"That's it? What about expenses? What if this goes on for a while?"
"It's just a formality," Bane said. "If I didn't charge anything, I couldn't claim you as a client, which gives me some leverage dealing with the police and the courts."
Granger handed him the check, Bane wrote out a receipt and gave it to the man, then stowed the check inside the ledger which he returned to the drawer. "Now I can claim a certain amount of confidentiality. Inspector, you've been quiet. I know that look. You have something to point me in the right direction?"
"About Indigo? Nah. You know more than I do at this point."
Studying the worry that Granger was trying to conceal, Bane said, "I'm on the case as of right now. Inspector, I'll call as developments happen. Mr Granger, I promise you results. You'll hear from soon." He stood up and the two men followed his cue. After he escorted them to the front door, the Dire Wolf watched on the monitor as they went down the steps to the street and headed toward Klein's personal car. A predatory grin flickered for a bare instant across Bane's narrow face. Indigo!
He spun on his heel and trotted up the stairs to the second floor. Here was the conference room that had been the command center for the KDF in many battles of the Midnight War. The long oak table still stood where the knights of Tel Shai had assembled. Bane thumbed on the overhead lights and crossed to the row of dark green metal filing cabinets which took up much of one wall. Cindy had been scanning these files and uploading them into the computer records but there was much left to enter. He found the folder he wanted and took it over to the chair at the head of the table to refresh his memory.
Indigo's real name was Marco Decolta, born in Corsica in 1939. That would make him 55. He first came to public notice as a stage magician in Paris in 1961. For years, he toured Europe with his act, presenting illusions that other magicians could not match or explain. But from the start, there had been unsavory rumors about him. Indigo had been reported in the company of gangsters and smugglers, even political terrorists. He was persistently linked to murders and larceny, yet nothing could ever be proved. The police of six countries watched him suspiciously, yet were helpless to pin anything on him.
Bane re-read the file more slowly. He noticed that the crimes associated with Indigo had become gradually bigger and more violent. The FBI had investigated while the Illusionist was playing Las Vegas for a few years. There had also been trouble with the IRS that was being held at bay by expensive lawyers.
Then he found a note stuck in the bottom of the folder that caught his full attention. It was from Michael Hawk, a founding member of the KDF and one of Bane's most influential teachers. Hawk had died ten years earlier in the war with the Snake men, and it gave Bane a twinge to read this handwritten note from a friend long gone.
Hawk had been watching Indigo for years, and he had concluded that Indigo was more than just a show business conjurer. He thought that the man was able to cast illusions directly into peoples' mind, so realistic that no one could tell them from reality. Hawk had intended to propose that the KDF tackle this criminal at some point, but he warned that foresight and preparation would be necessary.
"Thanks, Mike," Bane said out loud. He turned to the final page of the file, which was about Indigo's partner. Hector Ramon was from Jamaica, a heavyweight boxer with an undistinguished record who had turned to bodyguard work. He had been charged with assault twice but not convicted. According to the police stats, he was six foot four and two hundred and seventy pounds, he would now be forty-one years old. Hector had been traveling with Indigo for nine years.
Bane returned the file to its place and began to pace. Here was just what he had been looking for. A week without even a hint of a case had left him itchy. After the KDF had disbanded in 1990, he had opened his detective agency on a full-time basis to keep busy, but it had not been satisfying. Bane had never known peace. He was a restless spirit that thrived in high-stress situations. Abruptly, he turned and left the room, snapping off the lights as he went out the door.
Heading down the stairs to his rooms on the first floor, he felt once again how ridiculous it was that this ten-story building, with its millions of dollars worth of equipment, was standing idle. With Cindy spending more time at Tel Shai, he was often the only person here. After the hellish Final Halloween, when so many of his friends had died or been broken in Necropolis, he had disbanded the KDF and declared they had sacrificed enough. But the years went by. Lately, he had been finding the idea of a new KDF, a team with new members, seemed the only fitting occupants for this building. Once the idea of a new team got in his thoughts, he had not been able to dismiss it.
In his office, he opened a locked drawer of the desk and took out one of the anesthetic dart guns, holstering it behind his left hip. He was already wearing the silk-thin Trom armor under his clothes and as always had the matched silver daggers strapped to his forearms under his sleeves. On a case like this, he would not be wearing the full field suit with its helmet and extra weaponry. He gave up some protection and firepower to be less conspicuous. Bane stopped by the control panel at the front door and checked that the building was sealed with all alarms on and defenses up.
Going through a panel in the back of a walk-in closet, the Dire Wolf hurried down concrete steps and along a narrow passage. Unlocking the door to the arsenal, which held everything from shotguns to claymores to throwing stars, he opened a crate and took out two metal ovoids the size of eggs, pocketing them. Then it was through a plain wooden door into an underground garage just big enough to hold two cars. He chose the two-year-old Buick Regal, which had been outfitted with Kevlar panels and bulletproof glass. He pulled up the ramp with its sharp turn at the top and eased out onto Lexington. For the first time in almost two weeks, he felt fully alive again.
III.
As he neared his destination, Bane pulled into a roadside diner. Once the action started, he might be on the go indefinitely. Ordering an omelette with hash browns and wheat toast, with apple juice and ice water, the Dire Wolf ate and thought. He pulled out a few maps he had taken from a bundle in the trunk of his car and studied them carefully. He located Indigo's address and memorized the roads around it. This was habit with him now. Many times he had been able to pursue an enemy or to escape capture himself because he had taken the time to get the battlefield clear in his mind.
Back on the road, he found Indigo's estate, set back on a hill with a few acres behind it. There was a three-story house with an attached garage. A circular driveway led up to the building, but there were no gates or obvious cameras. Bane wondered about the lack of security and decided it meant Indigo was confident in his own protection. Pulling up in front of the portico, he had to admit the mansion was well-kept. The shrubbery and lawn were beyond criticism, the paint and trim were fresh, the windows sparkled in the afternoon sunlight.
Bane got out, locking his car automatically, and as he put a foot on the bottom step, the seven foot high door swung outward. Filling the opening was Hector. He had known that the henchman would be big, but this was still impressive. Hector was wearing a dark brown suit with a tan shirt and black tie, complete with a vest and cuff links that matched his tie pin. After a second's appraisal, Bane lowered his estimation of the man... Hector had overdeveloped his chest and arms to the point where he was out of proportion for best fighting. The man's neck was thicker than his head.
The bodyguard was medium dark in skin tone, with a shaved head and a gold earring on the left. The boxing career had not left any signs on nose or ears, and Hector was actually good-looking in a sullen way. He glared down at Bane without welcome.
The Dire Wolf kept moving up the seven steps. "Let's get this over with. I'm here to see Indigo."
"The Master is not receiving anyone," Hector said with just a trace of accent.
"The Master...?! Oh come on, how can you say that with a straight face? Look, easy way or hard way, I'm coming in. It's up to you."
Something in the quiet confidence of Bane's voice seemed to reach Hector. He said, "Wait here," and closed the door but Bane immediately opened it again and followed him in. The huge bodyguard gave him a murderous stare but kept moving down the hallway. The Dire Wolf remained in a foyer and glanced around. He allowed himself a faint smile. Tough guys used to annoy him but after slugging it out with the likes of Seth Petrov or Venom, a weightlifter in a suit and tie seemed downright harmless. He began to look around. He realized his observation skills were not developed enough to be first rate detective. Michael Hawk could have turned around once in this foyer and rattled off twenty conclusions about the person who lived here, but Bane knew his own usefulness was when the fighting started.
He checked out the landscape on the wall to his left, a watercolor of what looked like the misty hills of Scotland. There were two shelves beneath it with a row of small trophy cups for fencing and a framed photograph of a young couple with two small boys, standing on a seashore. Indigo's family? A bronze statuette of a rearing horse completed the display. Bane could not see any theme, and he didn't see where this told him anything useful about the Illusionist.
As Bane was pondering, Hector turned the corner and said, "Come with me," in a stiff tone just short of outright fury. The Dire Wolf followed the big man, and decided that Hector needed to more stretching. Those hamstrings were tight. But it was better not to mention it. The bodyguard opened a dark polished door, stood to one side, and announced, "Jeremy Bane, sir."
III.
The den was cozy and warm, with a log burning in the fireplace. Seating in an overstuffed leather chair by the flames, Indigo held a snifter of brandy in one hand. He glanced up as Bane entered but did not rise. The man looked younger than his years. The sleek black hair, combed straight back, had no grey in it and the jawline was firm. With a pencil-thin mustache beneath an acquiline nose and sharp dark eyes, Indigo resembled a 1930s movie star. He wore a plum-colored smoking jacket over white dress shirt and black slacks, with slippers completing the picture of elegance.
The magician sniffed the brandy. "I appreciate it when visitors have the courtesy to make an appointment."
"We don't have time for that," Bane answered as he dropped down into a matching chair on the other side of the fireplace. "I assume you know a little about me."
"Oh yes. The notorious Dire Wolf. I have always had some curiosity about you, Mr Bane. So few white knights left in this tarnished world."
"Let's get to business. I'll toss a name at you. Douglas Hartman."
Indigo made no reply. Even Bane's trained eye could not spot a flicker of reaction. "You might have heard that he killed himself," the Wolf went on. "He was being blackmailed and couldn't handle it. Even worse, my feeling is that he was being squeezed for crimes he didn't do in the first place. One of my own magic tricks is finding blackmailers and making them disappear."
The Illusionist raised an eyebrow. "Ah, I see. You want my help. I'm sorry, my days of assisting the police to capture criminals are behind me. It was depressing work. Often my efforts were unappreciated.
"You can help capture this criminal," said Bane evenly, "by signing a confession."
Not a trace of response showed on the bland face. "Really. You'll have to do better than that. You can't seriously think that I would lower myself to criminal activity. I am retired. My aim is to spend my life in study and reflection."
Bane's grey eyes flashed in the firelight. "No one is fooled by your act. The FBI is watching you right now. Their Department 21 Black is itching for you to make a slip. Back in Europe, Interpol has a file on you thick as a phone book. You're a crook, Indigo. Everyone knows you're a crook with pretensions of being a gentleman."
That did it. Anger swept over the mask of a face. Indigo's gestured with one hand and a huge black bat shot out from it across the room straight at Bane. Faster than any normal Human, the Dire Wolf whipped one of the silver daggers from beneath his sleeve and jabbed it out so the oncoming beast would impale itself. But instead the bat just vanished like a candle flame going out.
The two enemies regarded each other for a second with new appraisal. Bane knew now that Indigo did have some power of casting realistic illusions. He would have sworn that was a real bat lunging for his throat. For his part, Indigo was staring with unease at his visitor. The dagger had jumped into the man's grip so quickly he had not been able to follow the motion. He was suddenly aware he was facing a dangerous man.
"That's a cute trick," the Dire Wolf snorted as he slid the dagger back under his sleeve. "Too bad you're a villain, I would have liked to have someone with that power on my team." He stood up and took a step toward the magician. "I can see you're going to make this difficult. How about I write out the confession and you just sign it, would that be simpler?"
"I can do better than that!" Indigo snapped. "I'll tell whatever you want to know. Why not? Yes, I was extorting money from Hartman. He was a weak-minded fool. He shot himself because I made him think he had symptoms of a terrible disease. I've killed dozens of people. Do you remember the case of William Cutler, the surgeon? I wanted his wife for a few days. So I made him think the road ahead of him was straight when in fact it curved past a cliff eighty feet straight down. I've enjoyed hundreds of women who thought it was their husband making love to them when it was me behind an illusion. Ha! I've looted museums and galleries, I've caused riots and mass panic. Why not? What do laws meant for ordinary people meant to me?!"
"This is terrific," Bane said. "Give me a few more. What about Louise Kemble Wilson, the reporter for THE WASHINGTON POST? Did you cause her death,too?"
"Yes. Absolutely. She was following me, listening to my phone calls, going through my garbage for evidence. I made her see a huge pit bull chasing her in her driveway. Her heart attack was not by chance."
"Okay, maybe one more. Using your powers is fine, but give me something I can get a conviction on. Did you ever use a gun? A knife?"
The Illusionist rose to his full height, putting the brandy down on a sidetable. "Why not? Why not tease you with the knowledge? Do you remember last year when the billionaire Aubrey Carnwright was murdered? I did that. I used his own pistol from his desk drawer and walked away past a dozen witnesses who ignored me because they were staring at the house next door burning... except there was no fire. As soon as I was gone, the fire vanished and the fools finally noticed the body!"
"Master," said Hector uneasily, "is this wise?"
"Please, my old friend. Let me flaunt my deeds just once. This man has no evidence, certainly nothing to take to a court. What I have told him is just words in the air."
With a barely visible smile, Bane removed a device from his inner jacket pocket and thumbed a contact patch. "You got all that, inspector?"
"Clear as a bell," came the recognizable voice of Inspector Klein. "Even the video came through. I'm sending officers now."
Replacing the Link to his pocket, Bane said, "That was Inspector Harold Klein, Homicide Division,NYPD. Thanks for bragging, Indigo. With those names you gave, the investigations can be re-opened. We'll see you sipping your brandy in the prison cafeteria."
With an effort that left his face purple, Indigo controlled himself. "Hector! Take him!"
The giant Jamaican seized Bane from behind but caught an elbow to the sternum that cracked the bone. The Dire Wolf had been tracking the big black man and knew where he would be coming from. Swinging around, Bane blasted a blurring left cross that swung violently around to crash against the wall and fall over a low table that held a phone and some papers. From the way he landed, it seemed clear the bodyguard would not be getting up anytime soon.
"Impressive," sniffed Indigo as he rose from his chair. "I've seen Hector take on three bruisers at a time."
"You can take a swing at me," Bane offered. "There's still time to rough you up before the cops get here."
"What, fight? Like a common brawler? I think not."
Suddenly, fire rushed over Bane, big yellow flames that ran up his arms and legs. The Dire Wolf cried out involuntarily and slapped at himself before catching on. There was no heat, no pain. Still wrapped in crackling fire, he lowered his hands slowly. "You're a cute one," he said.
Abruptly, the illusion changed and he found snakes crawling all over him. A red and black coral snake slid around his neck, and he saw a rattler tighten on his arm. But he could not feel them. They were not really there.
"This is rich," he said. "What next? Can you make me look like a skeleton? Or make me think I'm six inches tall? Give it up, Indigo. Once someone knows it's just a trick, your illusions can't do any harm."
The magician nodded slowly. "Not many people have your presence of mind." The air shimmered and suddenly there were half a dozen identical Indigos standing in that room. All exactly alike, each in the same dressing down.
"I will be leaving now," they all said at the same time. "We will meet once more, Dire Wolf. But you won't know it. You'll drive into a tree that looks like the open road, you will step in front of a truck that looks like empty air. And I will be there laughing. There is no protection against my art!"
"You're not the only one with tricks," Bane said quietly. He yanked the two metal eggs from his side pocket, twisted the tabs and threw them hard to the floor. In an instant, pressurized black smoke gushed out to fill the room. The pall was impenetrable, it stung the eyes and had an acrid aroma. Even the light from the fireplace was blotted out.
From within the darkness, the Dire Wolf said, "Try an illusion now."
Indigo coughed from the irritation of the smoke, and that was all Bane needed. He lunged across the room, got hold of an arm and yanked the man into an elbow strike that rocked his head back as far as it could go. The magician sagged limply. The Wolf lowered him to the floor and handcuffed right ankle to left wrist. This was a favorite tactic, something the police were not allowed to do. Getting out of that room and starting to cough himself, he left the door open and went down the hall to fling open the door to outside, then found a window and lifted that as well. Even so, it would be ten or fifteen minutes before the smoke dissipated.
Standing in the doorway for a moment, Bane glanced down at his left hand. There was a gash across the knuckles. I must have hit a tooth, he thought, and got a small adhesive strip from inside his jacket and pressed it down. Compared to some cases where he had emerged more dead than alive, this one had been a breeze.
Going back inside, he found he could see well enough to roll Indigo over to where Hector was lying. The big Jamaican was beginning to mumble and shift around. Before he could revive, Bane yanked out the man's shoelaces and tied his wrists and ankles together. Then he plopped down in Indigo's overstuffed chair and settled back.
He hadn't mentioned it to Inspector Klein, but he was sure the FBI would claim custody of Indigo, and that meant Department 21 Black would take over. Indigo had a better chance to seeing daylight again if he went to court, but 21 Black would want to study his illusion powers for years to see if they could replicate them. He imagined someone would always be watching the magician on closed-circuit monitors which wouldn't be affected by any illusions. Bane shrugged. The man deserved whatever happened to him.
Outside, he saw the flashing lights as two patrol cars pulled up. Now came the questions and more questions, filling reports and signing statements, being available for a possible court date. The Dire Wolf missed the days he had just slipped away secretly before all the paperwork.
3/29/2014
