"Swat the Fly"
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dochermes"Swat the Fly"
10/6-10/11/1995
I.
Bane and Cindy got out of the back of the unmarked car that had been sent for them. On the other side of Sixth Avenue was a cluster of patrol cars with their lightbars flashing blindingly in the gloom, and looming up over them was the Hartwick Building. This was an imposing spike of white granite that had been erected more than a hundred years earlier when its crusty old millionaire builder hadn't been inconvenienced by income tax. It took up most of the block, set back from the street by a small well-tended yard and further distanced from the riff-raff by a wrought-iron fence.
Inspector Klein shuffled over to meet them. "Hiya, kids. Glad you decided to come check this out." He looked the same as he always did, a short sturdy figure in a delapidated white raincoat, chewing on an unlit cigar. The native New York accent was particularly strong that night.
Waving a hand in a friendly wave, Cindy Brunner smiled in gleeful anticipation. "It's not considered polite to refuse a ride when a police detective shows up at your door." Her dark blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail that reached the middle of her back. Cindy was bundled in a long cloth coat and had even taken a second to wrap a flannel scarf around her neck. It wasn't that cold yet but the telepath liked to be prepared for any weather.
Walking beside her, Jeremy Bane nodded at Klein. "Something interesting enough to send a car for us at midnight, Inspector?"
"Yeah, I think so. Something up your alley, Mr Dire Wolf," Klein said. "There was a party here tonight for the aristocrats of Manhattan. Rich folks trying to impress each other and secretly wishing they were home in bed with a good book. Drinking expensive champagne, nibbling at ridiculous specks of foods and gossiping without shame. Then there was the homicide. Young guy, Stratford Allan Hartwick, grandson of the tyrant who owns this shack. See that window on the third floor? The one with the curtains pulled open?"
Bane turned his pale grey eyes upward. Normally he kept a serious expression on his face but now the intensity in his voice gave away how excited he was under the poker face. "Yeah. Come on, what happened?"
"There's a den there, kind of a library with a mounted sailfish and a fireplace. The kid brought a girl in there to do some smooching. She's a debutante with a million dollar trust fund herself. When he turned on the lights, young Hartwick surprised an intruder. Described as a man in dark tights with a full-face mask and goggles. He was holding a bronze statue of a rearing horse, done by somebody named Cullen, it's worth a fortune in itself. The burglar hit Hartwick over the head with the statue and frankly, the guy must be strong enough for the Olympics. Kid was killed instantly."
Bane made a non-commital grunt, still staring up at the window as he pictured the scene.
"Then the intruder did something strange, something weird, which is why I thought you two would be interested. One of the windows was open. He went out through it. Third floor, thirty-five feet above the pavement. The girl was screaming and ran for help, so she didn't see what happened to the guy."
Pointing at the Hartwick Building, the Dire Wolf said, "That looks like a rough climb. No ledges at each floor, no fingerholds, just a smooth surface almost like glass. Did the burglar have a rope hanging down from the roof?"
"Nothing our boys can find. No scrape marks, no traces of fiber. There's nothing to tie a line onto until you get to the roof itself and that's another ten stories up. But that's not the kicker."
Unexpectedly, Cindy gave Klein a gentle shove on one shoulder. "Stop building suspense, Inspector. Honestly, you like torturing us. What was the weird part?"
"Sure, sure. Two of the guests were standing on the sidewalk right where those officers are now. They had stepped out to get away from the cigar smoke and snarky remarks. When they heard a scream, naturally they looked up... and they both swear they saw a man in a black outfit climb out the window and run up the side of the building as if he was running on a level surface. They signed statements to that effect."
"I dunno if that's impossible to explain," Cindy said. "One way he could have done that would be with some sort of motorized winch up on the roof. A wire hooked to his belt would pull him up."
"No one saw him leave or enter the building. Security cameras show nothing. But then, this isn't the first time this character has been reported. Twice before, burglaries in April and June this year. Once, a witness saw this guy run down the side of an apartment building and hit the ground running. The second time, he jumped from one roof to another across a side street. I looked up records for the broad jump and he would have beat it by ten feet or more."
Standing nearby, the sergeant who had driven Bane and Cindy to the scene spoke up. "The Fly Man."
II.
Klein gave him a sour look, then admitted, "That's what the boys on the force have called him. Sometimes an unidentified crook gets a nickname that sticks. Usually something sarcastic. We have to call 'em something."
"The Fly Man," repeated Bane. "He may turn out to be only some acrobat with a few tricks, but I wonder. Inspector, can we get a look at the two men who saw the burglar escape?"
"You want to question them? We've been grilling them for an hour as it is."
"No, just a look," Cindy said. "You know our methods."
Although he could never mention it to any of his colleagues, Harold Klein had long ago accepted the fact that Cindy Brunner was a skilled telepath. It had taken a lot of convincing. He grinned in his slightly skewed way and said, "Sure. Let's cross the street over there."
Two men in their late fifties, well-tailored and well-fed, were drinking styrofoam cups of coffee that had been brought to them. Some uniformed officers were giving them final instructions, but the witnesses were fidgeting and impatient. While Bane and Cindy held back a few feet, Inspector Klein went up to inform the men they would be free to leave at that point, and the officers could also go back to the 20th Street Station to finish their paperwork and go home.
Standing almost within reach of the witnesses, Cindy tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. Both men suddenly became confused. The one who had been saying he wished he could be of more help trailed off into an incoherent mumble. He stared down at the sidewalk and shook his head. The other witness also appeared to lose all focus and simply gazed off into the night. The cops gave them both puzzled expressions but Klein gestured for them to be quiet.
The little blonde moved back a few steps and took Bane by the arm. "Got it," she whispered.
The Dire Wolf looked down at his partner and lover and allowed a faint smile to cross his face. Cindy was only an inch over five feet tall and barely one hundred pounds, but in her mind was incredibly power. The Midnight War had seen only a handful of telepaths who could match her control and deftness. He bent his head down and listened.
"I pulled images from their visual centers," she said. "So I can actually see what happened more clearly than their conscious memories. It was no trick, hon. The suspect ran up the side of that building exactly as if gravity was holding him on a vertical plane. Definitely a wild talent."
"Description?"
"Average sized guy, wearing a dark catsuit. Not black, I see it as a deep green. His face was covered. He had a pair of goggles sort of like what a snorkel diver might wear. And there was something across his back, something clear sticking out past his shoulders. Those witnesses didn't get a clear enough look for me to identify what that was all about."
"Just a guess, maybe it was a gimmick to help with balance?"
"Hard to say. Maybe."
Bane squeezed her shoulders affectionately. "Cin, you could be the world's greatest detective. Or spy. Your ability is invaluable."
"Yep, reading minds and solving crimes, that's me," she chuckled. "But I'm needed in the Midnight War more."
As the witnesses headed back inside the building, Klein joined the two Tel ShaI knights he had asked to come out there. "Heh, when those jokers got all fuzzy-headed, I knew Cindy was poking around inside their brains. Learn much, kid?"
She repeated what she had told Bane. "I think it's a gralic ability and we're dealing with someone more than human. But to ease everyone's nerves, maybe your official theory should be that he was pulled up on a wire to the roof?"
"Yeah, sounds good. Listen, I want to bring you two up to the crime scene but my superiors say I've been bending the rules a little too much lately as far as that goes. Maybe you could talk to the girl in a day or so, I'll give you her name and number. And I'll call your headquarters later this morning, around nine? I'm gonna be pulling an all-nighter here."
"All right," Bane said.
"You sound more grim than usual," Klein ventured.
"This is the first time we know of that this Fly Man killed someone. Maybe he's feeling regrets and guilt. What worries me is that he might decide he liked it."
III.
Dropped off at their building on East 38th Street a few minutes after two AM, Bane and Cindy decided the best plan was to get some sleep and start the case fresh in the morning. They both usually slept in Bane's rooms, although the telepath kept her own rooms next to them where her clothes and personal effects were kept. Even though they had spent a few hours at a murder scene and learned of a new potential menace, long years in the Midnight War had given them the ability to drop off into natural sleep within a few minutes.
At seven, Cindy woke up full of energy. The Kumundu training regimen and the Tagra tea diet had brought her to a constant state that athletes aimed to achieve for a single event. Cindy was not as driven to fight the Midnight War as her partner was. She saw the two of them more as protectors of Humans against occult threats but in her own way she enjoyed the adrenalin and the challenges as much as he did. She was not surprised to find Bane had silently crept out of bed already. His accelerated metabolism kept him hyperactive no matter what.
Going over to her own rooms, the telepath showered quickly and dressed in snug black jeans and a bright blue pullover with a V-collar white sweater over it. Since an active case was underway, she wore the silk-thin Trom armor under her clothes which left only her hands and her head exposed. Brushing her hair out, Cindy regarded her reflection thoughtfully. At thirty-seven, she looked much younger. The dark blue eyes gazed back at her thoughtfully. Her telepathy had manifested itself at puberty and her entire life had been shaped by her ability to communicate with other minds. For the past fifteen years, she had been a Tel Shai knight and a warrior in the secret battles alongside Bane. She grinned at her reflection, feeling grateful for the opportunity she had been given.
Moving out to the landing, the welcome aroma of bacon frying greeted her. Her stomach growled softly. Cindy trotted down the wide staircase to the first floor of the headquarters building and swung around toward the kitchen at the rear of the front hall. She found Bane working two frying pans, with the round table under the window already set up with plates and silverware.
"French toast, bacon, juice," the Dire Wolf said. "Even my cooking can't ruin this stuff."
"It smells great, Jeremy," she replied as she brought out a pitcher of cranberry juice and got them both tumblers of ice water as well. Neither of them drank coffee. The Tagra diet had adjusted them to the point where their bodies treated the caffeine as a poison and simply passed it without effect. In a few minutes, they were digging into breakfast with enthusiasm.
"You know," she managed to say after a mouthful was chewed and swallowed, "We have been in a slump lately. The Dire Wolf agency hasn't had a case for a few weeks."
Bane nodded. "I was getting itchy. It's too bad about that young guy being killed but hopefully we can stop this Fly Man before anyone else gets hurt."
"The Fly Man," she said. "Sheesh. We've got quite a rogue's gallery, hon." She swiped the last bit of French toast in a pool of syup. "Got any ideas?"
"I wonder if he's a shape-shifter. Only instead of a wolf or a bear, his totem is the fly for some reason." He stood up and took their plates over to the stainless steel sink to soak them in steaming soapy water. "Once in a while, a shifter turns up with some goofy totem they transform into."
Cindy put the nearly empty pitcher of juice back in the refrigerator, then came over to lean up against Bane while he did the dishes. "What a strange world we live in, hon. And I wouldn't have it any other way."
"No telling exactly when Klein will show up," Bane said. He dried his hands on a towel and frowned more than usual. "We should see what we can find about this Fly Man."
"Sounds good," the telepath responded. "I'll dig through the box of clippings." She made a scoffing noise as she headed toward the door."I'm so far behind on scanning all those scraps of newspapers and entering them in our computer system because I start reading them and get lost."
They went back up to the second floor and entered the conference room. Here still stood the long oak table with twelve chairs arranged around it, where their KDF team had assembled so many times in one crisis after another. As Bane flipped on the overhead lights, he let out a barely audible sigh. "The more I think about it, the more I think you're right, Cin. We need to start gathering a new team. This building with all its equipment, all the information and weaponry here... and only the two of us still active."
"I have a few ideas for possible recruits," she said. "But right now, the Fly Man is our agenda." She crossed to the rear of the room and sat down on the floor in front of a pair of cabinets. Inside were cardboard boxes with dates scrawled on them in marker. Cindy hauled out the current one and started rummaged through the manila envelopes and folders inside. "Dang, what a mess. That clipping service you hired is still sending us weird stories from all over the world. Here's sightings of a black panther in Wisconsin, Gator Joe in Florida, mysterious disappearances, unidentified lights in the sky.... But I know we have reports on that Fly character somewhere."
The Dire Wolf seated himself at the captain's spot at the head of the meeting table. Despite his determination to dwell in the present, sometimes he could not help but visualize his friends who had so often taken their seats here and watched him to take command. Khang. Michael Hawk. Larry Taper. Leonard Slade. All gone now. Only a few of the KDF had survived that hellish night of the Final Halloween five years earlier, and they had retired from the Midnight War. He took a breath and reached for the landline phone that sat near his left hand. Before he touched it, the phone rang.
"Good morning, Jeremy," said the calm, measured tones he remembered so well.
"Garrison? I suppose I should be used to the way you do things by now," Bane grumbled. "I was about to call you."
"Yes," Nebel replied without elaboration. "I offer encouragement but also a warning."
"Okay, I'm listening," said the Dire Wolf. All these years and Garrison Nebel's mystic perception still made him uneasy.
"You face a threat well within your ability to handle," Nebel went on. "The biggest danger is overconfidence. Do not take this creature too lightly. Set a trap for him, wait and be patient until he places himself within your grasp."
"Makes sense," Bane admitted. "To catch a fly, you set out flypaper."
"That is all I can perceive at this distance," the mellow voice said. "You and Cindy should come up here to visit me and lose some of the stress that is tightening your spirits."
"We will," said Bane. "The Hudson Valley in the fall is gorgeous. Even a city boy like me can appreciate the foliage."
"Good." The blind mystic hung up without further words and Bane replaced the phone to its cradle.
Hunched over the clippings, Cindy made a gentle snort. "You have such conflicted feelings about him. You like and trust him as a KDF teammate and as a fellow Tel Shai knight. But it bugs you the way he knows things and the way he never tells you everything you want to find out."
"True enough," Bane said. "Him and his Eyeless Helmet. Well, he's not going to change. Garrison advised us to set a trap for the Fly Man."
"Sounds like a plan." She brought over a 8 by 10 envelope and arranged the various clippings on the table, then sat down and allowed Bane to start going through them. She maintained a light surface contact with his mind and she was amazed again at how quickly it processed information and saw beneath the surface. Bane had no formal schooling after growing up as a street orphan, but he was above normal intelligence. She quickly saw that he had at least skimmed through these clippings before.
After a few minutes, rearranging the scraps of paper and studying the new patterns. "Cin, I think this Fly is working for someone a step up in the hierarchy. Someone like Arem Kamende or Megistus. He's gathering artifacts with real potency, not items that anyone outside the Midnight War would see as valuable. He does take loose cash and jewelry and stuff, but that's not his real purpose."
"Yeah? What else?"
"He has been more active than the NYPD suspects. I count eight robberies that fit his MO, including one where a woman took a shot at him but missed. Some of these were over in Connecticut, so Klein may not know about them. He robs collectors of the occult. Most of these collectors simply gather bizarre items without really understanding what they're buying but two were actual experts in the Midnight War. I remember Bill Saunders came here to see Mr Dred a few times."
"This gets deeper and darker," the blonde telepath remarked. "What worries me is that one of the pieces stolen was a jagged shard of dark coppery metal that reportedly feels warm to the touch. If that's a piece of Hellspawn, it means serious trouble. You notice he doesn't burgle the same place twice?"
"Right. He seems to avoid hitting a spot that has been alerted to him."
"So....." she drawled, "Who do you know that has a collection of Midnight War esoterica and lives in the area and would co-operate with us?'
Bane lifted those grey eyes and there was that predatory gleam in them that she recognized. "Sure. George Caplan owes us a favor. We chased Sepulchre away from his family a year ago."
"And we'll ask him to help him set a trap for our friend?"
The Dire Wolf smiled almost imperceptibly. "TWO traps."
IV.
At twelve-thirty Sunday night, the servants had retired and and the mansion was dark. It was a five-story Georgian structure, enlarged during the Depression to include an attached garage and a boat house with a pier extending out over Lake Reese.
The main ballroom had been set up with rows of metal folding chairs, an elevated lectern and a table covered with neat rows of ancient books. Each of the volumes was sealed in a protective acid-free Mylar bag with a number. In one corner of the chamber, a single dim nightlight glowed in an outlet barely providing enough illumination to make out shapes.
Inside a cloakroom with the door nearly shut, Cindy Brunner sat on the floor and munched on a handful of raisins. She had brought a folded blanket to sit on, a bottle of water and a snack for her vigil. She had pulled many all-night stakeouts since joining the KDF as a founding member, waiting and listening until dawn was no problem for her.
Delicately, the telepath reached out with her mind through the mansion, searching for the thoughts of a burglar but finding only the vague confused dreams of sleeping maids and cooks. To her surprise, she found that she herself featured in the dreams of the chaffeur, who had only glimpsed her for a few minutes earlier. She grinned wickedly in the darkness as she realized what she was doing with him in his fantasy. The boy is healthy, she thought.
The auction of a number of old books long sought after by Midnight War cognoscenti had been announced a few days earlier and the news had circulated among the rare scholars who knew the true nature of the occult. The event was scheduled for ten o'clock the following morning and if the Fly Man intended to loot the collection, this would be his chance. Cindy had shifted her anesthetic dart gun in its holster over to her side where it would not dig in. Settling back, she picked up on the nervous rudimentary thoughts of a field mouse making its way out to the kitchen for any crumbs and she followed the little creature's progress with sympathy.
At that moment, in a less elegant summer home out near the easternmost point of Long Island, Jeremy Bane prowled from room to room. Nicholas Kraemer had lived alone here and, with him in the hospital, the building was as dark and locked up as one might expect. Ten years earlier, the struggling author had been researching his first of the Dark Dynasty novels, BLOOD DEBT, and he had accidentally stumbled upon the real thing. He had been captured and taunted by minions of the Baron Dralescu. The ancient Vampire Lord had toyed with his prisoner while putting off actually turning Kraemer into one of them. Only this delay had given Bane a chance to track down the warren and destroy several of the Undead before getting Kraemer to safety. Dralescu and the other Vampire Lords had escaped.
Ever since then, Warren Kraemer had lived on guard, always well armed with the specializded weapons needed, always watchful for any signs of the unholy predators. And he had long wanted a chance to repay Bane. Now, asked to check into Metro General for elective surgery he had long postponed, he had agreed to let the Dire Wolf use his summer home as a trap for this so-called Fly Man.
In his black field suit with the visor raised on his helmet, Bane was close to being invisible in the murk. His night vision had kicked in and he could make his way through the darkened rooms with confidence. Once the traps had been arranged, waiting the following few days had been difficult for him. Impatience was his greatest weakness.
The faintest of scraping noises rewarded his straining ears. Finally. He stalked as silently as a real wolf up the narrow stairs to the second floor. Light came from he room that Kraemer used as a combination library and office. Earlier, Bane had made sure that all the doors in the house were left ajar to help him hear an intruder. Someone had snapped on the lamp on the desk, pretty bold for a burglar but then the house was at the end of a long back road and the odds were against any motorist seeing the house, letting alone noticing a lit window at this hour.
The office had been two rooms until Kraemer had knocked out a wall to create a single large workspace. Bookshelves lined two walls, the decor featured black wrought iron lamps and overstuffed reclining chairs, with a deep shag carpeting. An array of autographed photos of celebrities posing with Kraemer filled available wall space, and a cabinet held curios like a replica shrunken head, a fossil Triobite, and scraps of metal from an alleged UFO that had crashed in Brazil. There were also a variety of antique weapons mounted here and there, including crossed sabers, a morningstar and a short throwing spear.
Crouched over a desk piled with books, folders and loose papers was a figure in a dark jumpsuit. The Fly Man. His back was toward the door and Bane approached him with a stealthiness only a handful of people in any realm could equal. Barely breathing, making no more noise than a moving shadow, the Dire Wolf appraised the weird intuder.
The one-piece jumpsuit was not black but a dark green with a faint irridescent sheen. Black canvas sneakers, black wrist-length leather gloves. A snug black cloth mask that covered the man's entire head completed a covering that left no skin exposed. Round goggles were strapped over the burglar's eyes, and a holster under his left armpit held a big .45 caliber automatic that had been enameled black.
But it was the wings that understandably stirred Bane's curiosity. From high up on the shoulder blades, coming out through slits cut in the jumpsuit, extended a pair of flylike wings evidently made of some stiff translucent material that had faint veins running its surface. The Dire Wolf got a good look and concluded that whoever had constructed those wings had done good work.
Ten feet away, Bane sprang at the intruder, one fist drawn back to launch a blow calculated to daze rather than kill. Quiet as his attack was, somehow the burglar became aware of his lunge. Bracing both hands on the desk, the Fly Man swung both feet up and back and Bane ran right into that double kick. He was caught off balance and reeled back but managed not to fall.
Swinging around, the weird figure showed only a dark oval of the mask covering his face. His goggles were so thick nothing could be seen on his eyes. There was mockery in the voice that asked, "Don't you know a fly can see in all directions?"
V.
Annoyed more at himself than his opponent, Bane flashed forward. Quick as he was, though, he was too far away to prevent the Fly Man from having snatched out the gun and snapped off three shots. In that enclosed space, the detonations sounded like a cannon going off. One bullet missed but the following pair slammed into Bane right in the diaphragm and knocked him down with a thud. The flexible Trom armor he wore under his field suit dispersed nearly all impacts but it was not perfect and he had the wind knocked out of him for a second.
As the Dire Wolf landed on his back, his enemy hopped lightly across the room with a buzzing noise and stood bestriding him with the barrel of that automatic pointed directly at Bane's exposed face. "Hold still. I don't want to get blood all over my outfit," said the Fly Man. "I think I know who you are. Bane, right? Jeremy Bane, I've heard some wild yarns about you."
"And I think I know something about you," replied the Dire Wolf as calmly as if meeting at a cafe for lunch. "Those wings aren't artificial. I saw the way they moved just now. They're part of you. I bet that you don't look even mostly Human under that mask. You've transformed. You really are a Fly Man."
These accusations seemed to dismay the intruder and his concentration wavered. Bane drew his left knee up and drove his leg out straight to kick the Fly Man in the pit of the stomach. With a cough as the air was forced out of his lungs, the creature doubled up and was vulnerable. The Dire Wolf reared up, smacked the gun away out of the Fly Man's grasp to clatter in one corber of the room, and blasted a short hooking punch to the face that lifted the creature off his feet and threw him to one side.
Scrambling away from each other, both men were up and on their feet in an instant. The Fly Man leaped upward, swung his legs toward his head and planted his feet on the high ceiling where he proceeded to stand upside defying gravity.
Bane had kept this possibility in the back of his mind but it was still a startling sight. There was no doubt in his mind now that he was dealing with a shape-shifter. Instead of the usual wolf or bear or even bat, though, this monster's totem seemed to be the common house fly. Could be worse, the Dire Wolf thought, this guy could be turning into a scorpion or hornet.
Wheeling around, the Fly Man snatched one of the decorative sabers from its clip on the wall and swung back to face his enemy. The weapon might be intended for display, but it had a quality stainless steel blade that had been honed as if for actual use. Still walking on the ceiling with his body hanging down, the creature ran at the Dire Wolf, swinging left and right wildly.
In Bane's experience, an untrained opponent with a weapon was just as dangerous because it was impossible to predict the next move. He set himself, saw the blade whip past him by a foot, then lunged in. As the saber hissed back, Bane blocked it with his forearm. The Trom armor under his sleeve made the blade bounce back off harmlessly, which the Fly Man of course could not have expected. The creature's defenses were down. Bane smashed a backfist through the opening that hit the monster's head hard enough to have split a coconut.
Instead of being killed as a normal Human could have been, the Fly Man landed on his hands and knees and then whooshed up into the air with his clear wings beating rapidly. Bane's follow-up blow whistled through empty space. The Dire Wolf grew even more enraged at this fight. He felt he should have been able to take out this opponent immediately but he was having a hard time.
Seeing the Fly Man head for the corner where the gun had been thrown, Bane's said with an ominous restraint, "You didn't have to kill that guy in the Hartwicke Building."
Dropping to the floor, the creature snatched up his pistol and swiveled toward his enemy just in time to receive a thrown spear directly into the center of his chest. The weapon had been cast with so much force that it drove the Fly Man back and pinned him against the wall behind him. The masked head drooped forward and the body sagged as life left it.
Lowering his arm from the throw, Bane watched the corpse suspiciously for a minute. He couldn't imagine where Kraemer had obtained a genuine assegai but he had been tempted by seeing it hanging from a cord on the wall. Short throwing spears were not reliable at long range but at close distances they were very effective. He was satisfied now that the Fly Man was dead. Sure enough, the wings were retracting and the shape of the head was changing to a normal outline. In death, most shape-shifters reverted to their original Human forms.
The Dire Wolf relaxed a little and felt his adrenalin levels ebb down to less elevated levels. He took out his Link, patched into the Verizion network and called a number he did not have to look up. "Inspector? Yeah, I thought you might be still up. Send that patrol car and the crime scene boys out to Kraemer's house. Yes. I guess I'll wait here. Four hours of answering the same questions and signing statements isn't anything I enjoy but I guess there's no way out of it."
Breaking the connection, Bane then called Cindy, who answered instantly. He said, "It's over, hon. I tagged him. Yes. Ah, he did turn out to be a real shape-changer and not just a second-story man in a funny suit. No, I'm fine." The Dire Wolf glanced up at the body still hung down with the spear holding it to the wall. "It's kind of surreal, though. You know how they mount moths and butterflies for display with a pin through them....?"
4/14/2000 - Rev. 2/19/2019
10/6-10/11/1995
I.
Bane and Cindy got out of the back of the unmarked car that had been sent for them. On the other side of Sixth Avenue was a cluster of patrol cars with their lightbars flashing blindingly in the gloom, and looming up over them was the Hartwick Building. This was an imposing spike of white granite that had been erected more than a hundred years earlier when its crusty old millionaire builder hadn't been inconvenienced by income tax. It took up most of the block, set back from the street by a small well-tended yard and further distanced from the riff-raff by a wrought-iron fence.
Inspector Klein shuffled over to meet them. "Hiya, kids. Glad you decided to come check this out." He looked the same as he always did, a short sturdy figure in a delapidated white raincoat, chewing on an unlit cigar. The native New York accent was particularly strong that night.
Waving a hand in a friendly wave, Cindy Brunner smiled in gleeful anticipation. "It's not considered polite to refuse a ride when a police detective shows up at your door." Her dark blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail that reached the middle of her back. Cindy was bundled in a long cloth coat and had even taken a second to wrap a flannel scarf around her neck. It wasn't that cold yet but the telepath liked to be prepared for any weather.
Walking beside her, Jeremy Bane nodded at Klein. "Something interesting enough to send a car for us at midnight, Inspector?"
"Yeah, I think so. Something up your alley, Mr Dire Wolf," Klein said. "There was a party here tonight for the aristocrats of Manhattan. Rich folks trying to impress each other and secretly wishing they were home in bed with a good book. Drinking expensive champagne, nibbling at ridiculous specks of foods and gossiping without shame. Then there was the homicide. Young guy, Stratford Allan Hartwick, grandson of the tyrant who owns this shack. See that window on the third floor? The one with the curtains pulled open?"
Bane turned his pale grey eyes upward. Normally he kept a serious expression on his face but now the intensity in his voice gave away how excited he was under the poker face. "Yeah. Come on, what happened?"
"There's a den there, kind of a library with a mounted sailfish and a fireplace. The kid brought a girl in there to do some smooching. She's a debutante with a million dollar trust fund herself. When he turned on the lights, young Hartwick surprised an intruder. Described as a man in dark tights with a full-face mask and goggles. He was holding a bronze statue of a rearing horse, done by somebody named Cullen, it's worth a fortune in itself. The burglar hit Hartwick over the head with the statue and frankly, the guy must be strong enough for the Olympics. Kid was killed instantly."
Bane made a non-commital grunt, still staring up at the window as he pictured the scene.
"Then the intruder did something strange, something weird, which is why I thought you two would be interested. One of the windows was open. He went out through it. Third floor, thirty-five feet above the pavement. The girl was screaming and ran for help, so she didn't see what happened to the guy."
Pointing at the Hartwick Building, the Dire Wolf said, "That looks like a rough climb. No ledges at each floor, no fingerholds, just a smooth surface almost like glass. Did the burglar have a rope hanging down from the roof?"
"Nothing our boys can find. No scrape marks, no traces of fiber. There's nothing to tie a line onto until you get to the roof itself and that's another ten stories up. But that's not the kicker."
Unexpectedly, Cindy gave Klein a gentle shove on one shoulder. "Stop building suspense, Inspector. Honestly, you like torturing us. What was the weird part?"
"Sure, sure. Two of the guests were standing on the sidewalk right where those officers are now. They had stepped out to get away from the cigar smoke and snarky remarks. When they heard a scream, naturally they looked up... and they both swear they saw a man in a black outfit climb out the window and run up the side of the building as if he was running on a level surface. They signed statements to that effect."
"I dunno if that's impossible to explain," Cindy said. "One way he could have done that would be with some sort of motorized winch up on the roof. A wire hooked to his belt would pull him up."
"No one saw him leave or enter the building. Security cameras show nothing. But then, this isn't the first time this character has been reported. Twice before, burglaries in April and June this year. Once, a witness saw this guy run down the side of an apartment building and hit the ground running. The second time, he jumped from one roof to another across a side street. I looked up records for the broad jump and he would have beat it by ten feet or more."
Standing nearby, the sergeant who had driven Bane and Cindy to the scene spoke up. "The Fly Man."
II.
Klein gave him a sour look, then admitted, "That's what the boys on the force have called him. Sometimes an unidentified crook gets a nickname that sticks. Usually something sarcastic. We have to call 'em something."
"The Fly Man," repeated Bane. "He may turn out to be only some acrobat with a few tricks, but I wonder. Inspector, can we get a look at the two men who saw the burglar escape?"
"You want to question them? We've been grilling them for an hour as it is."
"No, just a look," Cindy said. "You know our methods."
Although he could never mention it to any of his colleagues, Harold Klein had long ago accepted the fact that Cindy Brunner was a skilled telepath. It had taken a lot of convincing. He grinned in his slightly skewed way and said, "Sure. Let's cross the street over there."
Two men in their late fifties, well-tailored and well-fed, were drinking styrofoam cups of coffee that had been brought to them. Some uniformed officers were giving them final instructions, but the witnesses were fidgeting and impatient. While Bane and Cindy held back a few feet, Inspector Klein went up to inform the men they would be free to leave at that point, and the officers could also go back to the 20th Street Station to finish their paperwork and go home.
Standing almost within reach of the witnesses, Cindy tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. Both men suddenly became confused. The one who had been saying he wished he could be of more help trailed off into an incoherent mumble. He stared down at the sidewalk and shook his head. The other witness also appeared to lose all focus and simply gazed off into the night. The cops gave them both puzzled expressions but Klein gestured for them to be quiet.
The little blonde moved back a few steps and took Bane by the arm. "Got it," she whispered.
The Dire Wolf looked down at his partner and lover and allowed a faint smile to cross his face. Cindy was only an inch over five feet tall and barely one hundred pounds, but in her mind was incredibly power. The Midnight War had seen only a handful of telepaths who could match her control and deftness. He bent his head down and listened.
"I pulled images from their visual centers," she said. "So I can actually see what happened more clearly than their conscious memories. It was no trick, hon. The suspect ran up the side of that building exactly as if gravity was holding him on a vertical plane. Definitely a wild talent."
"Description?"
"Average sized guy, wearing a dark catsuit. Not black, I see it as a deep green. His face was covered. He had a pair of goggles sort of like what a snorkel diver might wear. And there was something across his back, something clear sticking out past his shoulders. Those witnesses didn't get a clear enough look for me to identify what that was all about."
"Just a guess, maybe it was a gimmick to help with balance?"
"Hard to say. Maybe."
Bane squeezed her shoulders affectionately. "Cin, you could be the world's greatest detective. Or spy. Your ability is invaluable."
"Yep, reading minds and solving crimes, that's me," she chuckled. "But I'm needed in the Midnight War more."
As the witnesses headed back inside the building, Klein joined the two Tel ShaI knights he had asked to come out there. "Heh, when those jokers got all fuzzy-headed, I knew Cindy was poking around inside their brains. Learn much, kid?"
She repeated what she had told Bane. "I think it's a gralic ability and we're dealing with someone more than human. But to ease everyone's nerves, maybe your official theory should be that he was pulled up on a wire to the roof?"
"Yeah, sounds good. Listen, I want to bring you two up to the crime scene but my superiors say I've been bending the rules a little too much lately as far as that goes. Maybe you could talk to the girl in a day or so, I'll give you her name and number. And I'll call your headquarters later this morning, around nine? I'm gonna be pulling an all-nighter here."
"All right," Bane said.
"You sound more grim than usual," Klein ventured.
"This is the first time we know of that this Fly Man killed someone. Maybe he's feeling regrets and guilt. What worries me is that he might decide he liked it."
III.
Dropped off at their building on East 38th Street a few minutes after two AM, Bane and Cindy decided the best plan was to get some sleep and start the case fresh in the morning. They both usually slept in Bane's rooms, although the telepath kept her own rooms next to them where her clothes and personal effects were kept. Even though they had spent a few hours at a murder scene and learned of a new potential menace, long years in the Midnight War had given them the ability to drop off into natural sleep within a few minutes.
At seven, Cindy woke up full of energy. The Kumundu training regimen and the Tagra tea diet had brought her to a constant state that athletes aimed to achieve for a single event. Cindy was not as driven to fight the Midnight War as her partner was. She saw the two of them more as protectors of Humans against occult threats but in her own way she enjoyed the adrenalin and the challenges as much as he did. She was not surprised to find Bane had silently crept out of bed already. His accelerated metabolism kept him hyperactive no matter what.
Going over to her own rooms, the telepath showered quickly and dressed in snug black jeans and a bright blue pullover with a V-collar white sweater over it. Since an active case was underway, she wore the silk-thin Trom armor under her clothes which left only her hands and her head exposed. Brushing her hair out, Cindy regarded her reflection thoughtfully. At thirty-seven, she looked much younger. The dark blue eyes gazed back at her thoughtfully. Her telepathy had manifested itself at puberty and her entire life had been shaped by her ability to communicate with other minds. For the past fifteen years, she had been a Tel Shai knight and a warrior in the secret battles alongside Bane. She grinned at her reflection, feeling grateful for the opportunity she had been given.
Moving out to the landing, the welcome aroma of bacon frying greeted her. Her stomach growled softly. Cindy trotted down the wide staircase to the first floor of the headquarters building and swung around toward the kitchen at the rear of the front hall. She found Bane working two frying pans, with the round table under the window already set up with plates and silverware.
"French toast, bacon, juice," the Dire Wolf said. "Even my cooking can't ruin this stuff."
"It smells great, Jeremy," she replied as she brought out a pitcher of cranberry juice and got them both tumblers of ice water as well. Neither of them drank coffee. The Tagra diet had adjusted them to the point where their bodies treated the caffeine as a poison and simply passed it without effect. In a few minutes, they were digging into breakfast with enthusiasm.
"You know," she managed to say after a mouthful was chewed and swallowed, "We have been in a slump lately. The Dire Wolf agency hasn't had a case for a few weeks."
Bane nodded. "I was getting itchy. It's too bad about that young guy being killed but hopefully we can stop this Fly Man before anyone else gets hurt."
"The Fly Man," she said. "Sheesh. We've got quite a rogue's gallery, hon." She swiped the last bit of French toast in a pool of syup. "Got any ideas?"
"I wonder if he's a shape-shifter. Only instead of a wolf or a bear, his totem is the fly for some reason." He stood up and took their plates over to the stainless steel sink to soak them in steaming soapy water. "Once in a while, a shifter turns up with some goofy totem they transform into."
Cindy put the nearly empty pitcher of juice back in the refrigerator, then came over to lean up against Bane while he did the dishes. "What a strange world we live in, hon. And I wouldn't have it any other way."
"No telling exactly when Klein will show up," Bane said. He dried his hands on a towel and frowned more than usual. "We should see what we can find about this Fly Man."
"Sounds good," the telepath responded. "I'll dig through the box of clippings." She made a scoffing noise as she headed toward the door."I'm so far behind on scanning all those scraps of newspapers and entering them in our computer system because I start reading them and get lost."
They went back up to the second floor and entered the conference room. Here still stood the long oak table with twelve chairs arranged around it, where their KDF team had assembled so many times in one crisis after another. As Bane flipped on the overhead lights, he let out a barely audible sigh. "The more I think about it, the more I think you're right, Cin. We need to start gathering a new team. This building with all its equipment, all the information and weaponry here... and only the two of us still active."
"I have a few ideas for possible recruits," she said. "But right now, the Fly Man is our agenda." She crossed to the rear of the room and sat down on the floor in front of a pair of cabinets. Inside were cardboard boxes with dates scrawled on them in marker. Cindy hauled out the current one and started rummaged through the manila envelopes and folders inside. "Dang, what a mess. That clipping service you hired is still sending us weird stories from all over the world. Here's sightings of a black panther in Wisconsin, Gator Joe in Florida, mysterious disappearances, unidentified lights in the sky.... But I know we have reports on that Fly character somewhere."
The Dire Wolf seated himself at the captain's spot at the head of the meeting table. Despite his determination to dwell in the present, sometimes he could not help but visualize his friends who had so often taken their seats here and watched him to take command. Khang. Michael Hawk. Larry Taper. Leonard Slade. All gone now. Only a few of the KDF had survived that hellish night of the Final Halloween five years earlier, and they had retired from the Midnight War. He took a breath and reached for the landline phone that sat near his left hand. Before he touched it, the phone rang.
"Good morning, Jeremy," said the calm, measured tones he remembered so well.
"Garrison? I suppose I should be used to the way you do things by now," Bane grumbled. "I was about to call you."
"Yes," Nebel replied without elaboration. "I offer encouragement but also a warning."
"Okay, I'm listening," said the Dire Wolf. All these years and Garrison Nebel's mystic perception still made him uneasy.
"You face a threat well within your ability to handle," Nebel went on. "The biggest danger is overconfidence. Do not take this creature too lightly. Set a trap for him, wait and be patient until he places himself within your grasp."
"Makes sense," Bane admitted. "To catch a fly, you set out flypaper."
"That is all I can perceive at this distance," the mellow voice said. "You and Cindy should come up here to visit me and lose some of the stress that is tightening your spirits."
"We will," said Bane. "The Hudson Valley in the fall is gorgeous. Even a city boy like me can appreciate the foliage."
"Good." The blind mystic hung up without further words and Bane replaced the phone to its cradle.
Hunched over the clippings, Cindy made a gentle snort. "You have such conflicted feelings about him. You like and trust him as a KDF teammate and as a fellow Tel Shai knight. But it bugs you the way he knows things and the way he never tells you everything you want to find out."
"True enough," Bane said. "Him and his Eyeless Helmet. Well, he's not going to change. Garrison advised us to set a trap for the Fly Man."
"Sounds like a plan." She brought over a 8 by 10 envelope and arranged the various clippings on the table, then sat down and allowed Bane to start going through them. She maintained a light surface contact with his mind and she was amazed again at how quickly it processed information and saw beneath the surface. Bane had no formal schooling after growing up as a street orphan, but he was above normal intelligence. She quickly saw that he had at least skimmed through these clippings before.
After a few minutes, rearranging the scraps of paper and studying the new patterns. "Cin, I think this Fly is working for someone a step up in the hierarchy. Someone like Arem Kamende or Megistus. He's gathering artifacts with real potency, not items that anyone outside the Midnight War would see as valuable. He does take loose cash and jewelry and stuff, but that's not his real purpose."
"Yeah? What else?"
"He has been more active than the NYPD suspects. I count eight robberies that fit his MO, including one where a woman took a shot at him but missed. Some of these were over in Connecticut, so Klein may not know about them. He robs collectors of the occult. Most of these collectors simply gather bizarre items without really understanding what they're buying but two were actual experts in the Midnight War. I remember Bill Saunders came here to see Mr Dred a few times."
"This gets deeper and darker," the blonde telepath remarked. "What worries me is that one of the pieces stolen was a jagged shard of dark coppery metal that reportedly feels warm to the touch. If that's a piece of Hellspawn, it means serious trouble. You notice he doesn't burgle the same place twice?"
"Right. He seems to avoid hitting a spot that has been alerted to him."
"So....." she drawled, "Who do you know that has a collection of Midnight War esoterica and lives in the area and would co-operate with us?'
Bane lifted those grey eyes and there was that predatory gleam in them that she recognized. "Sure. George Caplan owes us a favor. We chased Sepulchre away from his family a year ago."
"And we'll ask him to help him set a trap for our friend?"
The Dire Wolf smiled almost imperceptibly. "TWO traps."
IV.
At twelve-thirty Sunday night, the servants had retired and and the mansion was dark. It was a five-story Georgian structure, enlarged during the Depression to include an attached garage and a boat house with a pier extending out over Lake Reese.
The main ballroom had been set up with rows of metal folding chairs, an elevated lectern and a table covered with neat rows of ancient books. Each of the volumes was sealed in a protective acid-free Mylar bag with a number. In one corner of the chamber, a single dim nightlight glowed in an outlet barely providing enough illumination to make out shapes.
Inside a cloakroom with the door nearly shut, Cindy Brunner sat on the floor and munched on a handful of raisins. She had brought a folded blanket to sit on, a bottle of water and a snack for her vigil. She had pulled many all-night stakeouts since joining the KDF as a founding member, waiting and listening until dawn was no problem for her.
Delicately, the telepath reached out with her mind through the mansion, searching for the thoughts of a burglar but finding only the vague confused dreams of sleeping maids and cooks. To her surprise, she found that she herself featured in the dreams of the chaffeur, who had only glimpsed her for a few minutes earlier. She grinned wickedly in the darkness as she realized what she was doing with him in his fantasy. The boy is healthy, she thought.
The auction of a number of old books long sought after by Midnight War cognoscenti had been announced a few days earlier and the news had circulated among the rare scholars who knew the true nature of the occult. The event was scheduled for ten o'clock the following morning and if the Fly Man intended to loot the collection, this would be his chance. Cindy had shifted her anesthetic dart gun in its holster over to her side where it would not dig in. Settling back, she picked up on the nervous rudimentary thoughts of a field mouse making its way out to the kitchen for any crumbs and she followed the little creature's progress with sympathy.
At that moment, in a less elegant summer home out near the easternmost point of Long Island, Jeremy Bane prowled from room to room. Nicholas Kraemer had lived alone here and, with him in the hospital, the building was as dark and locked up as one might expect. Ten years earlier, the struggling author had been researching his first of the Dark Dynasty novels, BLOOD DEBT, and he had accidentally stumbled upon the real thing. He had been captured and taunted by minions of the Baron Dralescu. The ancient Vampire Lord had toyed with his prisoner while putting off actually turning Kraemer into one of them. Only this delay had given Bane a chance to track down the warren and destroy several of the Undead before getting Kraemer to safety. Dralescu and the other Vampire Lords had escaped.
Ever since then, Warren Kraemer had lived on guard, always well armed with the specializded weapons needed, always watchful for any signs of the unholy predators. And he had long wanted a chance to repay Bane. Now, asked to check into Metro General for elective surgery he had long postponed, he had agreed to let the Dire Wolf use his summer home as a trap for this so-called Fly Man.
In his black field suit with the visor raised on his helmet, Bane was close to being invisible in the murk. His night vision had kicked in and he could make his way through the darkened rooms with confidence. Once the traps had been arranged, waiting the following few days had been difficult for him. Impatience was his greatest weakness.
The faintest of scraping noises rewarded his straining ears. Finally. He stalked as silently as a real wolf up the narrow stairs to the second floor. Light came from he room that Kraemer used as a combination library and office. Earlier, Bane had made sure that all the doors in the house were left ajar to help him hear an intruder. Someone had snapped on the lamp on the desk, pretty bold for a burglar but then the house was at the end of a long back road and the odds were against any motorist seeing the house, letting alone noticing a lit window at this hour.
The office had been two rooms until Kraemer had knocked out a wall to create a single large workspace. Bookshelves lined two walls, the decor featured black wrought iron lamps and overstuffed reclining chairs, with a deep shag carpeting. An array of autographed photos of celebrities posing with Kraemer filled available wall space, and a cabinet held curios like a replica shrunken head, a fossil Triobite, and scraps of metal from an alleged UFO that had crashed in Brazil. There were also a variety of antique weapons mounted here and there, including crossed sabers, a morningstar and a short throwing spear.
Crouched over a desk piled with books, folders and loose papers was a figure in a dark jumpsuit. The Fly Man. His back was toward the door and Bane approached him with a stealthiness only a handful of people in any realm could equal. Barely breathing, making no more noise than a moving shadow, the Dire Wolf appraised the weird intuder.
The one-piece jumpsuit was not black but a dark green with a faint irridescent sheen. Black canvas sneakers, black wrist-length leather gloves. A snug black cloth mask that covered the man's entire head completed a covering that left no skin exposed. Round goggles were strapped over the burglar's eyes, and a holster under his left armpit held a big .45 caliber automatic that had been enameled black.
But it was the wings that understandably stirred Bane's curiosity. From high up on the shoulder blades, coming out through slits cut in the jumpsuit, extended a pair of flylike wings evidently made of some stiff translucent material that had faint veins running its surface. The Dire Wolf got a good look and concluded that whoever had constructed those wings had done good work.
Ten feet away, Bane sprang at the intruder, one fist drawn back to launch a blow calculated to daze rather than kill. Quiet as his attack was, somehow the burglar became aware of his lunge. Bracing both hands on the desk, the Fly Man swung both feet up and back and Bane ran right into that double kick. He was caught off balance and reeled back but managed not to fall.
Swinging around, the weird figure showed only a dark oval of the mask covering his face. His goggles were so thick nothing could be seen on his eyes. There was mockery in the voice that asked, "Don't you know a fly can see in all directions?"
V.
Annoyed more at himself than his opponent, Bane flashed forward. Quick as he was, though, he was too far away to prevent the Fly Man from having snatched out the gun and snapped off three shots. In that enclosed space, the detonations sounded like a cannon going off. One bullet missed but the following pair slammed into Bane right in the diaphragm and knocked him down with a thud. The flexible Trom armor he wore under his field suit dispersed nearly all impacts but it was not perfect and he had the wind knocked out of him for a second.
As the Dire Wolf landed on his back, his enemy hopped lightly across the room with a buzzing noise and stood bestriding him with the barrel of that automatic pointed directly at Bane's exposed face. "Hold still. I don't want to get blood all over my outfit," said the Fly Man. "I think I know who you are. Bane, right? Jeremy Bane, I've heard some wild yarns about you."
"And I think I know something about you," replied the Dire Wolf as calmly as if meeting at a cafe for lunch. "Those wings aren't artificial. I saw the way they moved just now. They're part of you. I bet that you don't look even mostly Human under that mask. You've transformed. You really are a Fly Man."
These accusations seemed to dismay the intruder and his concentration wavered. Bane drew his left knee up and drove his leg out straight to kick the Fly Man in the pit of the stomach. With a cough as the air was forced out of his lungs, the creature doubled up and was vulnerable. The Dire Wolf reared up, smacked the gun away out of the Fly Man's grasp to clatter in one corber of the room, and blasted a short hooking punch to the face that lifted the creature off his feet and threw him to one side.
Scrambling away from each other, both men were up and on their feet in an instant. The Fly Man leaped upward, swung his legs toward his head and planted his feet on the high ceiling where he proceeded to stand upside defying gravity.
Bane had kept this possibility in the back of his mind but it was still a startling sight. There was no doubt in his mind now that he was dealing with a shape-shifter. Instead of the usual wolf or bear or even bat, though, this monster's totem seemed to be the common house fly. Could be worse, the Dire Wolf thought, this guy could be turning into a scorpion or hornet.
Wheeling around, the Fly Man snatched one of the decorative sabers from its clip on the wall and swung back to face his enemy. The weapon might be intended for display, but it had a quality stainless steel blade that had been honed as if for actual use. Still walking on the ceiling with his body hanging down, the creature ran at the Dire Wolf, swinging left and right wildly.
In Bane's experience, an untrained opponent with a weapon was just as dangerous because it was impossible to predict the next move. He set himself, saw the blade whip past him by a foot, then lunged in. As the saber hissed back, Bane blocked it with his forearm. The Trom armor under his sleeve made the blade bounce back off harmlessly, which the Fly Man of course could not have expected. The creature's defenses were down. Bane smashed a backfist through the opening that hit the monster's head hard enough to have split a coconut.
Instead of being killed as a normal Human could have been, the Fly Man landed on his hands and knees and then whooshed up into the air with his clear wings beating rapidly. Bane's follow-up blow whistled through empty space. The Dire Wolf grew even more enraged at this fight. He felt he should have been able to take out this opponent immediately but he was having a hard time.
Seeing the Fly Man head for the corner where the gun had been thrown, Bane's said with an ominous restraint, "You didn't have to kill that guy in the Hartwicke Building."
Dropping to the floor, the creature snatched up his pistol and swiveled toward his enemy just in time to receive a thrown spear directly into the center of his chest. The weapon had been cast with so much force that it drove the Fly Man back and pinned him against the wall behind him. The masked head drooped forward and the body sagged as life left it.
Lowering his arm from the throw, Bane watched the corpse suspiciously for a minute. He couldn't imagine where Kraemer had obtained a genuine assegai but he had been tempted by seeing it hanging from a cord on the wall. Short throwing spears were not reliable at long range but at close distances they were very effective. He was satisfied now that the Fly Man was dead. Sure enough, the wings were retracting and the shape of the head was changing to a normal outline. In death, most shape-shifters reverted to their original Human forms.
The Dire Wolf relaxed a little and felt his adrenalin levels ebb down to less elevated levels. He took out his Link, patched into the Verizion network and called a number he did not have to look up. "Inspector? Yeah, I thought you might be still up. Send that patrol car and the crime scene boys out to Kraemer's house. Yes. I guess I'll wait here. Four hours of answering the same questions and signing statements isn't anything I enjoy but I guess there's no way out of it."
Breaking the connection, Bane then called Cindy, who answered instantly. He said, "It's over, hon. I tagged him. Yes. Ah, he did turn out to be a real shape-changer and not just a second-story man in a funny suit. No, I'm fine." The Dire Wolf glanced up at the body still hung down with the spear holding it to the wall. "It's kind of surreal, though. You know how they mount moths and butterflies for display with a pin through them....?"
4/14/2000 - Rev. 2/19/2019
