"My Favorite Genie"
May. 24th, 2022 06:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"My Favorite Genie"
5/28/2006
I.
As dusk fell, Jeremy Bane locked his Toyota Matrix and activated the Trom alarm systems that Megan Salenger had installed for him. He had never before felt they were so necessary as just now. Just a few weeks ago, he had handled a kidnap case in Camden, New Jersey and had concluded that there was the worst city he had ever operated in. Maybe Detroit edged it out because Detroit was bigger and looked like a war zone where all the people had fled as refugees to a neighboring country. But in all honesty, after checking out Waterbury, Connecticut, he had to rethink his ranking.
It was getting dark. The Dire Wolf was not afraid in any real sense, he had killed so many dangerous opponents and Midnight War creatures in his life that he had complete confidence in his abilities. He was wearing the silk-thin Trom armor under his clothes, of course, and as always the matched silver daggers were sheathed on his forearms. The long-barreled Smith & Wesson .38 was holstered behind his left hip, with other weapons and gadgets concealed on his person. Bane was a one-man commando squad most of the time. The black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket had been tailored so nothing suspicious showed.
At fifty-five, still lean and muscular, the Dire Wolf stood by his car and gazed across the parking lot which had some broken glass and litter scattered across it. He was facing a cinder block building two stories high, with apartments on the second floor. One window had an air conditioning unit protruding inside a wire cage to prevent it being stolen. That was never a good sign. The ground floor of the building had a check cashing place, a dollar store and a liquor store in a row, all open. Bane watched the few customers who walked in and out. Twice, a man went from the check cashing place directly to the liquor store. The second guy opened a bottle of wine directly outside the store and took a long swig before stamping away.
Before he started the action, Bane walked around the block once to check the layout and look for traps. This was policy with him. Rundown apartment buildings with people sitting and arguing in doorways. A grown man on a child's bicycle, carrying a plastic bag full of something. Rusted out cars up on blocks with no wheels. The more he saw, the less he liked Waterbury. He had driven into town an hour ago and not seen a single police car. As he circled around toward the entrance of the parking lot, he saw a fat middle-aged man in a ratty white T-shirt standing by his car. The man glanced up. Something about the way Bane was standing and calmly watching seemed to scare the guy, because he turned and hurried away.
The Dire Wolf headed for the liquor store first. It had an unpromising arrangement, where a list of wines and booze available was posted with prices on the window, but the customers did not go inside. A clerk sat on a stool in an enclosed cubicle. You told him what you wanted and put money into a stainless steel tray under a bullet-resistant plexiglass window, he fetched the bottle and delivered it to you the same way. Bane glanced over the list of brands for sale and saw a cheap wine that sold with tax for exactly a dollar a quart. Nothing promising here.
The dollar store, ONE BUCK DOES IT ALL, was dingy and depressing. The floor had apparently never been mopped, the merchandise was so shoddy and useless that a dollar was too high a price, and three women mauled crying children in dirty clothes in the aisles. Bane wandered the store for a few minutes, getting a furious stare from the man behind the register, but decided this was not the opening he was looking for either. He went back outside. Glancing at his car, he saw no one was near it, which was just as well. The electric shocks it gave off if tampered with were not intended to be fatal, but you never knew when some thief might have a weak heart.
As he entered the check cashing place, the Dire Wolf perked up as all his instincts warned of danger. The storefront was simple, just a counter with a man on a stool behind it, a bench along one wall, a little black & white TV blaring in one corner. Yet Bane felt tension and impending violence instantly. He closed the door behind him, making a bell tinkle that hung suspended on a hook.
Behind that counter, a heavyset man with a nearly shaven head looked up from a newspaper and gave Bane that half-curious half-hostile expression often found in the dim. The man wore a long-sleeved white shirt and dark blue trousers and, although he had a thick middle, he did not look soft at all. The bright blue eyes met Bane's grey ones with an implied challenge. There was scar tissue on the man's knuckles and that nose had been broken more than once.
"What can I do you fer?" the man asked in a strangely childlike voice.
"I'm looking for a man named Pink," Bane said. "I've got the money I owe him."
"Oh, you does, does ya? He'll be glad to hear that, he's been reduced to looking for change in bus stations. Hey, Pink, get out here!"
A door in the wall behind the counter opened and a smaller, thinner man grudgingly appared. He was wearing identical clothing but he had a bizarre brush of wiry red hair standing up over each ear, with the rest of his head left bald. Two bleary eyes peered out over a prominent nose. "Whatcha yellin' for, Plum? I was havin' a swell dream of a turkey dinner with all the fixins'....."
"Dis guy says he's got money for you," the one called Plum announced proudly.
While the redhead named Pink was emerging, Bane had quietly locked the front door and flipped the piece of cardboard on a string so it read CLOSED from outside. "I just said that to draw you out," he told them. "Where's the third accomplice, the one called Maroon?"
"Oh, a wise guy huh," growled Plum. The beefy man rubbed his big hands together, then slapped them on the sides of his face in a strange gesture. He suddenly was coming around through the open side of the counter, much faster than Bane would have expected. A meaty paw reached for him. The Dire Wolf seized that wrist and yanked the arm out straight, at the same time kicking his foot down at the back of the man's knee. Plum went down hard to the dusty floor. But then he spun on his shoulder in a curious pinwheel maneuver that kicked Bane's feet out from under him. Taken offguard for once, Bane flipped onto his back, rolled and was up again instantly in time to deflect a wild roundhouse punch from the fat man. Even as that blow was redirected away, Bane snapped out a straight jab to the face with his other fist that rocked Plum's head back.
The strange man didn't seem affected by the impact. He tried to get Bane in a bear hug and, when that didn't work, he started throwing wide looping punches. Bane slapped these aside with soft palm blocks, saw an opening and blasted a full-power left hook that connected perfectly with a noise like a gun going off. Plum's head twitched but he wasn't hurt and he grinned crookedly.
Not sure what he was dealing with here, the Dire Wolf closed in and slammed twenty hard alternating punches in five seconds to the torso, then an elbow to the side of the face that sent Plum reeling back up against the counter. Now the heavy man seemed to be feeling the blows. He rubbed his belly gingerly and stared at Bane with a new, angrier appraisal.
"Why, you..." Plum said. "You knucklehead, I'll knock your chin down into your socks!" And he started forward again, running directly into a high side kick to the chest that lifted him up and back over the counter, where he crashed into the staring Pink. They both went down in a tangle of arms and legs.
Stepping forward, the Dire Wolf kneaded his hands to keep them from getting stiff after all those punches. This Plum was no ordinary Human, he must have some gralic attribute. Most men would be waking up in the ER after a beating like that. "Enough dancing, boys, time to talk. Where is the blue jar?"
"Maybe you should ask me that, mister," came a sullen voice from the door behind him. A third man in the white shirt and blue slacks outfit was closing that door and dropping a key ring in a pocket. This one was medium sized, none too bright looking but with a surly expression. He had thick black hair cut in bangs that covered his eyebrows. "Who's the big idea?"
"You must be Maroon," Bane said. "Good. Now we can settle this. I'm out to retrieve stolen property that poses a major threat to the public. A blue ceramic jar with red calligraphy on its surface, about two feet high. I know Don Coyote has it and I know you three goons work for him. So let's get this over with."
"Buddy, you are barking up the wrong alley. You're all wet without a paddle."
"WHAT?" said Bane despite himself.
"Me and my buddies don't work for Coyote no more. He got us wearing pink slips. Lucky enough that Plum and Pink hooked jobs here, but I'm still turning over rocks to find the pot of gold." Maroon lowered his voice and gestured for Bane to come closer. Bane ignored that. "I can tell you that Don Coyote is in this building. He got rooms without much room right above us. Maybe we should knock on his bell and invite ourselves in?"
The Dire Wolf glanced over to where Plum and Pink had disentangled themselves. "Okay," he said firmly. "Just you and me, we'll talk with Coyote."
II.
Before they left the room, Maroon pointed an accusing finger at the other two. "Now lissen you nincompoops, don't get in any trouble. Just follow the routine, roger?"
"Who's Roger?" said Pink in complete seriousness.
"Shaddup, porkypine. Plum, you know what ta do, right?"
"Soitanly," the fat man answered with an innocent grin. "What could go wrong?"
"Famous last words!" their leader muttered. "Come on, mister, I know Coyote's home."
Bane followed Maroon outside and around to the side of the building. The smell of smoke and stale urine was heavy by the plain metal door that they entered, and in the niche where sagging wooden steps led upward. As they went up those stairs, Bane was thinking about these three odd men he had to deal with. They used colors for names and they seemed to have something indefinable in common. The one he had fought, Plum, was tougher and more resilient than a normal Human. Was that true for the other two, or as he suspected, did they have different gralic abilities? Despite the comic speech of these three goons, Bane was on his guard even more than usual.
At the top of the stairs was a landing with two plain wooden doors, and Maroon rapped sharply with his knuckles on the left one. "Hey! Make sure you got pants on in there, you got company." A second later, the door opened and still another bizarre individual made an appearance. This one, though, Bane had heard about.
Don Coyote was about seventy, thin and bony, wearing a neat brown suit with a white shirt and tan necktie. He had a full head of white hair, a goatee and a mustache that he evidently waxed because the points stuck out sharply like the whiskers of a cat. Two bright blue eyes moved wildly over the two intruders and Coyote laughed unexpectedly.
"Maroon, you moron!" he cackled. "Don't you know who you have brought to my sanctum? To my secret refuge? This is none other than the notorious Dire Wolf in the flesh!" The old man stared at Bane with a unsavory leer.
"Aw I don't know nuthin' about diaries and wolves, skipper. But he was smackin' Plum around downstairs and I wanted to break it up before they wrecked the joint." Maroon stepped aside and pointed a thumb at Bane. "This palooka sez he wanted to see you personal like."
"The feeling is assuredly not mutual. Still, I would be boorish not to play the unwilling host. Please, won't you come in, Mr Bane?"
As Coyote ushered into a dingy apartment with a distinct mildew aroma, Bane automatically swept the scene with suspicious eyes. In that instant, he noted places where someone could be hidden, what objects could be used as weapons, even whether Don Coyote had been there long or not. Everything seemed normal, but he remained alert. As the old man plopped down into an easy chair that seemed about ready to collapse, he gestured for his guests to sit on the couch.
Bane declined, remaining on his feet and taking a step back so he could watch both Maroon and Don Coyote at the same time. "We seem to know each other just by reputation," he began.
"True, true, and glad I am that our paths have not crossed before. My career has not always been spent strictly within the confines of mundane law." The old man tweaked his mustache, still grinning.
"I've heard of you, but your con games are not really in my area," said Bane. "I hunt bigger game, dangerous game."
"Some brandy? No? Well, sir, then I must ask what brings you to my humble abode at this point? And by humble, I am understating the case."
Bane turned slightly, still inspecting the rundown apartment. The bathroom door was closed, as was the bedroom. He could not sense anyone hidden in there, but it was certainly possible. He saw the bottle of Hennesey's on the coffee table and the single glass half-filled with the cognac, no sign of anyone else being in that apartment. He did not see how either the elderly Coyote nor the pudgy middle-aged Maroon could be a threat to him.
"It's the item you stole from the Winslow Collection," he said. "A blue jar, thirteen inches high, covered with symbols that look like Arabic but are much older. I know you have it."
Don Coyote was still smiling. "I can assure you in unaccustomed sincerity that such an object is not in my possession, sir."
"Dat's right," Maroon broke in. "The boss ain't got it."
As soon as the man said that, Bane spun and hurtled from the room, leaping down the stairs four at a time and diving out the door to outside. He was gone before Coyote or Maroon could react, and they gaped as if he had disappeared like a magic trick.
Out in the parking lot, he spotted Plum and Pink lumbering at a pitiful pace. They were yelling incoherently at a rusted blue Dodge pick-up truck that had just pulled out into traffic.
Bane's enhanced speed was never more evident. He blurred past Plum and Pink so fast that they both fell down at the surprise. In an instant, he was out on the street and, as the truck slowed but did not stop at the corner, the Dire Wolf seized the tailgate and vaulted headlong into the bed of the truck. There, still standing upright, was the Jar of the Djinn.
The pick-up slowed and started to pull over to the curb. He could hear the driver say "What the hayll..?" in a Southern accent. Seizing the jar under one arm, Bane dove out of the truck bed while the vehicle was still in motion, kept his footing as he alit and took off at a full run with the ancient artifact in his arms. He had been working just on instinct the past minute. As soon as Maroon had said that Don Coyote did not have the jar, Bane had finished that sentence with "any more" and figured that it might be in the hands of the two goons downstairs.
Now, as he raced back toward the parking lot, the Dire Wolf was pleased in one part of his brain to find that he was still capable of stunts like this. As far as he could tell, he hadn't lost any speed or agility over the years. Sooner or later, he would feel age sneak up on him but not yet. He entered the open gate in the wire fence and saw Plum and Pink heading toward him.
"Don't even think about it!" he yelled. "I took it easy on you before." As that brought Plum to an uncertain halt, Bane went past them toward his car. He reached in his pants pocket and found his keys, chirped the alarms off and unlocked the doors. Placing the jar carefully on the back seat, he reset everything and stepped back. For the first time that day, he felt like things were going in the right direction.
Bane turned just as Plum lunged forward with open hands. Too quickly for anyone to follow, a three part combination of backfist, hook and backfist cracked against the big man's head. Plum twirled completely around and fell on his back, and a second later began to snore. Gazing down at the senseless bulk at his feet, Bane felt a guilty twinge at how close he had come to losing control completely. This fool had not done anything that merited being killed by a punch.
Turning to glare at Pink, he pointed at the cinder block building. "Go get Moron and Don Coyote! Get them down here right now."
"His name's Maroon, not moron--"
"I don't care anymore! Just get them down here." As the frizzy-haired redhead loped toward the door on the side of the building, Bane knelt and examined the senseless Plum. Breathing was even, pulse was steady. The guy would likely be fine. He rose and waited for Coyote to appear.
III.
A few minutes later, Bane had everyone assembled in front of the building. He had dragged the snoring Plum over and propped him up against the weathered wall. As far as he could tell, Plum would weigh well over three hundred pounds, making him much heavier than he looked. Once everything was settled, he wanted to find out what the goon's secret was.
Don Coyote was leaning on a slim ebony cane with a silver handle. He saw Plum leaning against the wall and gasped audibly. "I didn't think anything could do that to a brute like him. Did you use a hammer?"
"I'll hit you the same way if you don't watch it," Bane said. "Listen, I'm leaving the three goons here behind. Although I should call the local police and press all sort of charges, beginning with possession of stolen property." He paused. "As long as we have a moment, why was the jar in the back of that truck? Where was it going?"
"How would I know?" Pink asked in his usual vacant tones. "We was gonna hide it somewhere before you found it and we got in an argyment. Plum put it down in the back of the truck so he could yell at me and the driver pulled out before we knew it."
"See?" Maroon shouted. "You nincompoops can't be trusted to flip a light switch without flooding the bathtub. Every time I leave youse alone..."
"Save it," said Bane. "You two take care of your buddy there. He'll wake up with a headache. Coyote, you're coming with me, let's go."
"I say, I say... why should I be doing that, sir?" the old man sputtered.
"I'm running out of patience with you jokers," Bane said in a dangerously polite tone. "You saw me move. If I wanted to, I'd just knock you out before you saw it coming. But I'll let you get in the car on your own."
"Well, if you put it THAT way...." Don Coyote placed a tan fedora over his white hair and tilted it at a precise angle. "Maroon, hold down the fort until I return. Oh, and get Plum out of sight before some alky goes through his pockets."
Bane turned off the Trom alarms of his car, unlocked the doors and watched Coyote get into the passenger seat. He gave a grim look to the two goons. "I'll be back and we will have a real serious talk," he told them before getting behind the wheel.
III.
It was a ninety minute drive back to New York. When Bane had to stop for gas, he made Don Coyote get out of the car and stand by it just as a precaution before they were on their way again. Then the old man said he needed a bathroom break and something to eat, so twenty minutes were lost that way. The rest of the drive was in silence, but as they entered Manhattan, Coyote suddenly got itchy and started trying to make deals.
"I say, son, you've got that piece of pottery you wanted, surely you don't need a sick old man on your hands. Just let me off at the next red light and I'll be on my way-"
"Not up to me," Bane answered with a total lack of interest. "That jar belongs to Paul Winslow. Once he identifies it, it's up to him whether he wants to press charges or not." He glanced at the dashboard clock. "Nine-thirty. I'll have him come to my office to settle everything."
Coyote started to twist around to get a better look at the blue jar in the back and instantly a lean hand clamped tight around his neck. "Ack! See here... you're choking me, boy."
"I could if I wanted to," Bane answered. "I told you to just sit still. You may not realize how dangerous that jar is, but I do!"
As he was releashed from that grip, Coyote touched his throat gingerly. "No need to be so drastic, my boy. What could possibly be in there to pose such a threat?"
Bane hesitated. "You don't need to know. You've always been on the outskirts of the Midnight War, Coyote. Better for you to keep it that way." At 44th Street, he turned onto Third Avenue. There was a four-story yellow brick building with a small parking lot in front, and he eased into an available space. Shutting off the engine, he pointed a reprimanding finger at Coyote. "Behave. Come with me and don't start anything. I'm trying to make this easy on you."
"Oh, very well," muttered the old man. As he unbuckled his seat belt and got out, placing his fedora back on his head, Coyote heaved a melodramatic sigh. "I am so misunderstood..."
"Yeah right," Bane said. He got the blue jar from the back seat, locked the car and set the alarms. "Come on. Keep quiet." The Dire Wolf brought him through the double glass doors which slid open automatically, past the EMERGENCY ONE walk-in clinic which was open to eleven, and down a short hallway made between a wall and the side of the staircase going up to the second floor. Here was a plain wooden door with a brass plaque that said DIRE WOLF AGENCY.
Keeping one eye on the old con artist, Bane unlocked the outer door and ushered him into a tiny waiting room just big enough for a coffee table and two chairs. As Coyote huffed and acted exasperated, Bane opened the inner door to lead him into the office itself. Only with both doors locked behind them did the Dire Wolf flick on the lights and carefully place the blue jar on the floor of the closet. He closed that door as well.
Coyote was looking the office over. On the far wall facing him was a leather couch under the long curtained window which would have shown Third Avenue. To his left was a waist-high bookcase and a small refrigerator, to the right was a desk with three straightback chairs facing it. Everything was neat and tidy, except for a pile of newspapers and magazines on top of the bookcase.
"The Dire Wolf Agency," he proclaimed dramatically. "Scourge of the underworld, I take it?"
"More than one Underworld," Bane answered. "Sit in a chair. We'll get this over with soon." Moving behind his desk, he picked up the cordless phone from its charger, dialed a number and had a brief conversation. As he hung up, he said, "Winslow is on his way. I'd give him fifteen minutes, he's not far uptown. Anything you want to bring up before he arrives?"
The old grifter had removed his hat and was fiddling with it as he spoke. "Ahem. Well, you should know that I certainly did not enter this Winslow person's home to purloin any ceramic jar. My advanced years make such an athletic effort quite impossible-"
"You didn't do it personally," Bane interrupted. "But I met your three goons tonight. They don't have enough brains to change a light bulb together, but you're an experienced thief. One thing needs to be cleared up, Coyote. You don't know about that jar. You would have stolen something more obviously valuable from the Winslow collection. So, the question is, who are you working for?"
"Sir! What kind of question is that to ask a gentleman?"
"The same kind the NYPD will be asking you, but they'll be doing it in a small room with a bright light in your face," Bane said. "Well?"
"I have nothing to add," Coyote declared.
"Fine with me. It'll be up to Winslow to call the cops up here, and I know you have a few outstanding warrants in Florida." Bane leaned back in his swivel chair. They stared at each other for a few minutes, and then the outer doorbell rang.
"You stay put," Bane warned Coyote, getting up and going back to the waiting room. He glanced up at the monitor screen high up in one corner and recognized Paul Winslow, son of the occult expert Micah Winslow and heir to a huge collection of ancient talismans and artifacts. Even as he let Winslow in, Bane threw a glance back to make sure Don Coyote had not budged.
Something was wrong. In a split-second, he sensed something he could not specify, but decades of experience had him on alert. It wasn't Coyote. Bane swiveled toward Paul Winslow just as the air shimmered around the man like heat on a highway in the summer sun, and Maroon was standing there with an automatic in his hand. Bane's left hand flashed quicker than a cobra striking, gripping the strange man's wrist but for once, he was a tiny of a fraction too slow. The gun fired, deafeningly loud in the tiny waiting room, and three heavy .45 slugs exploded point-blank into Bane's chest. The impact felt like getting hit by a speeding truck. Bane tumbled over backwards, breaking the coffee table as he landed on it.
The flexible Trom armor under his clothes dissipated most of the impact over its surface, preventing any penetration and reducing damage to a fraction of what would have been instantly fatal. But while the armor was good, it wasn't perfect and Bane had the breath knocked completely out of him. He sprawled on the broken table, vaguely moving his arms and legs for a moment as he fought to remain conscious. If Maroon had gone for a head shot then, Bane would have been killed.
But the strange man with the black bangs obviously figured he had finished him. Maroon yelled, "C'mon you two nitwits, get in here!" Pink and Plum squeezed clumsily into the waiting room and closed the door to the hall behind them.
"Golly, Maroon, ya moidered him," Plum muttered in a tiny voice.
"Whaddaya think I meant to do? Let's go, let's go. Boss, you okay in there?"
Don Coyote had appeared in the inner door, grinning wickedly. "Fine work, yes indeed. I knew you boys wouldn't let me down. You followed us here?"
"Not exactly. We took the Thruway. But we knew where that jerk's office was, right where you told us," Maroon said. He chuckled, "My illusions don't last long but I don't need them to."
Coyote clapped him on one shoulder approvingly. "Our next step is to claim that blue jar in the closet and make ourselves scarce, then."
The chunky man shook his shaven head sadly. "Ya know, I was hopin' to duke it out with that Wolf guy again. I'd clobber the bum...!"
As he spoke, a strong hand seized his shoulder and spun him around into a furious left hook that snapped his head almost over against his own shoulder. As Plum reeled and fell to the carpet, Jeremy Bane stepped around him and lunged at the others. Maroon only caught a glimpse of icy grey eyes flashing at him before an uppercut whipped up from knee level to slam his jaw shut and crack two teeth. Maroon landed on top of the moaning Plum, completely unconscious.
Bane kicked the .45 out of Maroon's limp hand and swung to face Pink, who was only now seeming to realize what had happened. "Stay where you are!" the Dire Wolf roared in a voice he seldom used. "I don't know what odd power you might have, but try to use it and you're dead. You got me?"
The redhead nodded quickly, hands raised, a look of complete terror on his simple face. His eyes were bulging comically.
Behind Bane, Don Coyote had turned toward where the automatic had been kicked away and started to take a step toward it. Seemingly without looking, Bane gave him a backhanded slap to the cheek that knocked the old man to his knees. "I haven't forgotten about you," the Dire Wolf said coldly. He felt his chest tentatively and decided no ribs had been cracked, but his whole upper body ached and burned. He hadn't been hurt like that for a long time.
"Striking an old man..." Don Coyote mumbled as he got up.
"Shut up! Your goon just tried to murder me. You're lucky if you get out of this office alive, Coyote. You, with the red hair, go stand over by your boss." As Pink obeyed and helped Don Coyote up, Bane stood where he could watch everyone at the same time.
"All right, what's the deal with these three? Where do they get those powers?" Bane demanded.
"They were born that way," Don Coyote grudgingly answered. "They're cousins. Someone told me they manifested strange abilities during puberty. They've been in and out of jail all their lives. I gave them a place to stay and planned a few, ah... projects to keep them busy."
"Heists, you mean. Well, that's over now." Bane saw that neither Plum nor Maroon showed any signs of coming back to awareness at the moment. The front bell rang again. He pointed a finger at Coyote. "That will be Winslow. You two stay put. Remember, I've done all this while pulling my punches. Don't get me really mad."
Opening the door to the hall, Bane saw Paul Winslow again, but this time it was the real person. Just thirty, Winslow had the perfect teeth and impeccable grooming and tailored suit that a wealthy upbringing bestows. He would certainly have been a good-looking young man in any case. "Mr Bane? I came here as quickly as I could..."
"Thank you," the Dire Wolf said as he rushed the man into the waiting room and closed the door to the hall. He gave Winslow a few seconds to take in the situation in the office. Don Coyote and Pink were standing with their hands partially raised, afraid to move, and in front of them were two unconscious men piled together.
"Come in," Bane told him. "There was some trouble a few minutes ago. These are the men who stole that jar from your home. I retrieved it. Here they are."
Paul Winslow opened his mouth and closed it without managing to say to anything. Finally, he squeaked, "Ah, well, thank you."
"Part of the job," Bane answered as he went over to the closet and emerged with the heavy blue jar in hand. The metal cap which sealed its mouth had an arcane symbol printed on it, and the writing along its sides resembled Arabic but, as only Bane among them knew, dated back thousands of years earlier. "This is what the fuss was all about."
Maroon and Plum groaned and stirred, starting to revive. The Dire Wolf glanced over at them, and at that moment Pink gestured with both hands. A barely visible haze of gralic energy encircled the jar. "I told you not to try anything," Bane snapped as he lunged for the artifact but the metal cap had already popped off like a cork from a champagne bottle.
A thick swirl of black smoke gushed out from that ancient blue jar, spinning like a dark tornado. Near its top, two brilliant golden eyes gleamed.
IV.
Bane pushed Winslow behind him, partly into the doorway. He had faced two Djinn in his career. The first time, some quick thinking had trapped the being back inside its prison but the second encounter had been with an older, more powerful Djinn. That fight had lasted twenty minutes and left Bane with a broken arm and second degree burns before he had cut the Djinn into fragments too small to reform. He had not been looking forward to another such encounter, yet here he was.
The pillar of smoke five feet tall swirled and drew tighter upon itself. Gold streaks raced through the dark vapor, and two crude semblances of arms began to form. From within the smoke, a woman's voice spoke the traditional salutation, "What is thy bidding, oh my master?"
"Oh, Afifa, it's good to see you're okay," Winslow answered, speaking around past the dumfounded Bane.
"I haven't slept since you were stolen while I was away."
Drawing still denser, the dark cloud flashed with a burst that lit the room and a gorgeous young blonde woman was standing there in a harem outfit. She wore red slippers, translucent pink pantaloons and a snug white vest that was open over a curvy torso. Her golden hair was fastened with a stiff headpiece like a tiara. As she appeared in view, both Don Coyote and Pink gasped audibly. "This humble one is pleased to be in your presence, master," she answered but with a winsome smile that contradicted the formal tone.
"This... this is your Djinn?" Bane finally managed to ask.
As Winslow took the woman's small hand, he grinned blissfully. "Oh yes. Afifa is a very young Djinn."
"No more than five hundred years old," she added helpfully. "A mere babe according to my kindred."
"Well," the Dire Wolf said after a minute, "I really don't know what to say. I guess I'm glad that you two are glad to be.. reunited?"
"Thank you," said Paul Winslow. He looked disdainfully down at where Plum and Maroon were just beginning to stir. "Afifa, do you think you could roust those two so we can get them away from here?"
"To hear is to obey." The blonde spirit waved a hand casually, sending a wave of gralic force crackling over the two goons on the floor. They both twitched violently, struggled to their feet and staggered over to where Coyote and Pink were standing. From the glazed expressions, neither Plum nor Maroon had any clear idea what was going on.
Afifa lowered her hand, fixing a cool gaze on the bizarre assortment of characters staring back at her. "These are the dogs to dared lay hands upon my jar..?" she whispered.
"Yep. Don Coyote and his three goons." Bane still had not relaxed and was ready to react instantly if this woman showed any signs of attacking. She seemed to not be a threat, but just because she had taken the form of a beautiful woman didn't mean she was not still a Djinn. "I figure they were going to sell you to another collector of Midnight War artifacts."
"I see." Afifa sighed and turned back to Winslow. "You know I am forbidden by the Pact to slay a mortal, my master. That is their good fortune for I am not pleased with these fools."
"Let's forget them and return home. We have lost time to make up for." Winslow placed an arm around her shoulders and she snuggled up to him.
"Ah, love in the springtime of youth," Coyote observed as he placed his fedora on his head. "All's well that end well, as the Bard observed-"
"Hold it." Bane stopped the man with a cold look. "You're not going anywhere. If I were a regular person, your goons would have killed me today. Maroon shot me pointblank in the chest and Plum did his best to beat me senseless. All four of you are up on burglary and possession of stolen property charges."
The fat bald one curled up beefy fists and snorted. "Why you--" He stamped a foot like a bull ready to charge, but the clear voice of Afifa halted him.
"You three are kin by blood, are you not?" she asked quietly.
"They are first cousins," said Don Coyote, "Can't you tell they are related?"
She smiled with a touch of glee. "And you three, what is your phrase, stick together?"
"Yeah, dat's right!" Maroon shouted. "One for all and all for one and three for a quarter. We're inseperable."
"I am so gratified to hear that," said the blonde. She swept both hands toward the blue jar which still sat on Bane's desk. In an instant, the three goons collapsed and became three funnels of black smoke which whirled around the room and streamed into the open mouth of the jar. Bane had caught on as soon as he saw the transformation. He lunged and capped the silver plug over the mouth of the jar, jamming it down as tightly as he could. From within, he could just hear faint voices yelling and arguing.
"The containment jar may not be empty for long," Afifa said. "That is our penance for what was done when the world was young. Still, better that these ruffians be in there than myself." She batted curling lashes at Winslow. "Do you approve, my master?"
"Oh absolutely," Winslow said. He laughed out loud. "Having to wait six days for you to emerge from that jar for a brief twenty-four hours was torture. They can stay in there a while, I think."
"No more than a thousand years," Afifa smiled.
Don Coyote had actually started to try to sneak past Bane, but a steely hand clamped down on his shoulder with painful force. "Ah! Easy there, son, no need to break any bones!"
"That just leaves you," Bane said. "But I can't see taking you to court now. Am I going to show the judge the jar with the little voices coming out of it? Is the Djinn here going to take the witness stand? No. You're too old for me to just beat the hell out of, too. Maybe I'll let you go with a warning to never show up in my town again. Deal?"
"Fair enough, well spoke, I'll be leaving now." As he hurried out the door, Don Coyote gave a wistful glance at the blue jar. "See you boys when you get out." And he was gone.
Paul Winslow by now had his arm around Afifa's tiny waist and she was pressed up against him with a warmth that left no doubt as to their intentions. "Thank you for retrieving the jar, Mr Bane," he said. "I owe you much more than your fee. Without Afifa, my life would be empty."
Bane handed him the blue jar, which suddenly felt much heavier. "Glad to help. I don't always have a case end this happily."
Afifa stared up at him with huge cobalt blue eyes. "For a man of the West, you do not seem surprised to meet an actual genie, sir."
"Oh, I've tangled with a Djinn or two in my time," Bane told her. "But certainly you're my favorite genie."
10/31/2014
5/28/2006
I.
As dusk fell, Jeremy Bane locked his Toyota Matrix and activated the Trom alarm systems that Megan Salenger had installed for him. He had never before felt they were so necessary as just now. Just a few weeks ago, he had handled a kidnap case in Camden, New Jersey and had concluded that there was the worst city he had ever operated in. Maybe Detroit edged it out because Detroit was bigger and looked like a war zone where all the people had fled as refugees to a neighboring country. But in all honesty, after checking out Waterbury, Connecticut, he had to rethink his ranking.
It was getting dark. The Dire Wolf was not afraid in any real sense, he had killed so many dangerous opponents and Midnight War creatures in his life that he had complete confidence in his abilities. He was wearing the silk-thin Trom armor under his clothes, of course, and as always the matched silver daggers were sheathed on his forearms. The long-barreled Smith & Wesson .38 was holstered behind his left hip, with other weapons and gadgets concealed on his person. Bane was a one-man commando squad most of the time. The black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket had been tailored so nothing suspicious showed.
At fifty-five, still lean and muscular, the Dire Wolf stood by his car and gazed across the parking lot which had some broken glass and litter scattered across it. He was facing a cinder block building two stories high, with apartments on the second floor. One window had an air conditioning unit protruding inside a wire cage to prevent it being stolen. That was never a good sign. The ground floor of the building had a check cashing place, a dollar store and a liquor store in a row, all open. Bane watched the few customers who walked in and out. Twice, a man went from the check cashing place directly to the liquor store. The second guy opened a bottle of wine directly outside the store and took a long swig before stamping away.
Before he started the action, Bane walked around the block once to check the layout and look for traps. This was policy with him. Rundown apartment buildings with people sitting and arguing in doorways. A grown man on a child's bicycle, carrying a plastic bag full of something. Rusted out cars up on blocks with no wheels. The more he saw, the less he liked Waterbury. He had driven into town an hour ago and not seen a single police car. As he circled around toward the entrance of the parking lot, he saw a fat middle-aged man in a ratty white T-shirt standing by his car. The man glanced up. Something about the way Bane was standing and calmly watching seemed to scare the guy, because he turned and hurried away.
The Dire Wolf headed for the liquor store first. It had an unpromising arrangement, where a list of wines and booze available was posted with prices on the window, but the customers did not go inside. A clerk sat on a stool in an enclosed cubicle. You told him what you wanted and put money into a stainless steel tray under a bullet-resistant plexiglass window, he fetched the bottle and delivered it to you the same way. Bane glanced over the list of brands for sale and saw a cheap wine that sold with tax for exactly a dollar a quart. Nothing promising here.
The dollar store, ONE BUCK DOES IT ALL, was dingy and depressing. The floor had apparently never been mopped, the merchandise was so shoddy and useless that a dollar was too high a price, and three women mauled crying children in dirty clothes in the aisles. Bane wandered the store for a few minutes, getting a furious stare from the man behind the register, but decided this was not the opening he was looking for either. He went back outside. Glancing at his car, he saw no one was near it, which was just as well. The electric shocks it gave off if tampered with were not intended to be fatal, but you never knew when some thief might have a weak heart.
As he entered the check cashing place, the Dire Wolf perked up as all his instincts warned of danger. The storefront was simple, just a counter with a man on a stool behind it, a bench along one wall, a little black & white TV blaring in one corner. Yet Bane felt tension and impending violence instantly. He closed the door behind him, making a bell tinkle that hung suspended on a hook.
Behind that counter, a heavyset man with a nearly shaven head looked up from a newspaper and gave Bane that half-curious half-hostile expression often found in the dim. The man wore a long-sleeved white shirt and dark blue trousers and, although he had a thick middle, he did not look soft at all. The bright blue eyes met Bane's grey ones with an implied challenge. There was scar tissue on the man's knuckles and that nose had been broken more than once.
"What can I do you fer?" the man asked in a strangely childlike voice.
"I'm looking for a man named Pink," Bane said. "I've got the money I owe him."
"Oh, you does, does ya? He'll be glad to hear that, he's been reduced to looking for change in bus stations. Hey, Pink, get out here!"
A door in the wall behind the counter opened and a smaller, thinner man grudgingly appared. He was wearing identical clothing but he had a bizarre brush of wiry red hair standing up over each ear, with the rest of his head left bald. Two bleary eyes peered out over a prominent nose. "Whatcha yellin' for, Plum? I was havin' a swell dream of a turkey dinner with all the fixins'....."
"Dis guy says he's got money for you," the one called Plum announced proudly.
While the redhead named Pink was emerging, Bane had quietly locked the front door and flipped the piece of cardboard on a string so it read CLOSED from outside. "I just said that to draw you out," he told them. "Where's the third accomplice, the one called Maroon?"
"Oh, a wise guy huh," growled Plum. The beefy man rubbed his big hands together, then slapped them on the sides of his face in a strange gesture. He suddenly was coming around through the open side of the counter, much faster than Bane would have expected. A meaty paw reached for him. The Dire Wolf seized that wrist and yanked the arm out straight, at the same time kicking his foot down at the back of the man's knee. Plum went down hard to the dusty floor. But then he spun on his shoulder in a curious pinwheel maneuver that kicked Bane's feet out from under him. Taken offguard for once, Bane flipped onto his back, rolled and was up again instantly in time to deflect a wild roundhouse punch from the fat man. Even as that blow was redirected away, Bane snapped out a straight jab to the face with his other fist that rocked Plum's head back.
The strange man didn't seem affected by the impact. He tried to get Bane in a bear hug and, when that didn't work, he started throwing wide looping punches. Bane slapped these aside with soft palm blocks, saw an opening and blasted a full-power left hook that connected perfectly with a noise like a gun going off. Plum's head twitched but he wasn't hurt and he grinned crookedly.
Not sure what he was dealing with here, the Dire Wolf closed in and slammed twenty hard alternating punches in five seconds to the torso, then an elbow to the side of the face that sent Plum reeling back up against the counter. Now the heavy man seemed to be feeling the blows. He rubbed his belly gingerly and stared at Bane with a new, angrier appraisal.
"Why, you..." Plum said. "You knucklehead, I'll knock your chin down into your socks!" And he started forward again, running directly into a high side kick to the chest that lifted him up and back over the counter, where he crashed into the staring Pink. They both went down in a tangle of arms and legs.
Stepping forward, the Dire Wolf kneaded his hands to keep them from getting stiff after all those punches. This Plum was no ordinary Human, he must have some gralic attribute. Most men would be waking up in the ER after a beating like that. "Enough dancing, boys, time to talk. Where is the blue jar?"
"Maybe you should ask me that, mister," came a sullen voice from the door behind him. A third man in the white shirt and blue slacks outfit was closing that door and dropping a key ring in a pocket. This one was medium sized, none too bright looking but with a surly expression. He had thick black hair cut in bangs that covered his eyebrows. "Who's the big idea?"
"You must be Maroon," Bane said. "Good. Now we can settle this. I'm out to retrieve stolen property that poses a major threat to the public. A blue ceramic jar with red calligraphy on its surface, about two feet high. I know Don Coyote has it and I know you three goons work for him. So let's get this over with."
"Buddy, you are barking up the wrong alley. You're all wet without a paddle."
"WHAT?" said Bane despite himself.
"Me and my buddies don't work for Coyote no more. He got us wearing pink slips. Lucky enough that Plum and Pink hooked jobs here, but I'm still turning over rocks to find the pot of gold." Maroon lowered his voice and gestured for Bane to come closer. Bane ignored that. "I can tell you that Don Coyote is in this building. He got rooms without much room right above us. Maybe we should knock on his bell and invite ourselves in?"
The Dire Wolf glanced over to where Plum and Pink had disentangled themselves. "Okay," he said firmly. "Just you and me, we'll talk with Coyote."
II.
Before they left the room, Maroon pointed an accusing finger at the other two. "Now lissen you nincompoops, don't get in any trouble. Just follow the routine, roger?"
"Who's Roger?" said Pink in complete seriousness.
"Shaddup, porkypine. Plum, you know what ta do, right?"
"Soitanly," the fat man answered with an innocent grin. "What could go wrong?"
"Famous last words!" their leader muttered. "Come on, mister, I know Coyote's home."
Bane followed Maroon outside and around to the side of the building. The smell of smoke and stale urine was heavy by the plain metal door that they entered, and in the niche where sagging wooden steps led upward. As they went up those stairs, Bane was thinking about these three odd men he had to deal with. They used colors for names and they seemed to have something indefinable in common. The one he had fought, Plum, was tougher and more resilient than a normal Human. Was that true for the other two, or as he suspected, did they have different gralic abilities? Despite the comic speech of these three goons, Bane was on his guard even more than usual.
At the top of the stairs was a landing with two plain wooden doors, and Maroon rapped sharply with his knuckles on the left one. "Hey! Make sure you got pants on in there, you got company." A second later, the door opened and still another bizarre individual made an appearance. This one, though, Bane had heard about.
Don Coyote was about seventy, thin and bony, wearing a neat brown suit with a white shirt and tan necktie. He had a full head of white hair, a goatee and a mustache that he evidently waxed because the points stuck out sharply like the whiskers of a cat. Two bright blue eyes moved wildly over the two intruders and Coyote laughed unexpectedly.
"Maroon, you moron!" he cackled. "Don't you know who you have brought to my sanctum? To my secret refuge? This is none other than the notorious Dire Wolf in the flesh!" The old man stared at Bane with a unsavory leer.
"Aw I don't know nuthin' about diaries and wolves, skipper. But he was smackin' Plum around downstairs and I wanted to break it up before they wrecked the joint." Maroon stepped aside and pointed a thumb at Bane. "This palooka sez he wanted to see you personal like."
"The feeling is assuredly not mutual. Still, I would be boorish not to play the unwilling host. Please, won't you come in, Mr Bane?"
As Coyote ushered into a dingy apartment with a distinct mildew aroma, Bane automatically swept the scene with suspicious eyes. In that instant, he noted places where someone could be hidden, what objects could be used as weapons, even whether Don Coyote had been there long or not. Everything seemed normal, but he remained alert. As the old man plopped down into an easy chair that seemed about ready to collapse, he gestured for his guests to sit on the couch.
Bane declined, remaining on his feet and taking a step back so he could watch both Maroon and Don Coyote at the same time. "We seem to know each other just by reputation," he began.
"True, true, and glad I am that our paths have not crossed before. My career has not always been spent strictly within the confines of mundane law." The old man tweaked his mustache, still grinning.
"I've heard of you, but your con games are not really in my area," said Bane. "I hunt bigger game, dangerous game."
"Some brandy? No? Well, sir, then I must ask what brings you to my humble abode at this point? And by humble, I am understating the case."
Bane turned slightly, still inspecting the rundown apartment. The bathroom door was closed, as was the bedroom. He could not sense anyone hidden in there, but it was certainly possible. He saw the bottle of Hennesey's on the coffee table and the single glass half-filled with the cognac, no sign of anyone else being in that apartment. He did not see how either the elderly Coyote nor the pudgy middle-aged Maroon could be a threat to him.
"It's the item you stole from the Winslow Collection," he said. "A blue jar, thirteen inches high, covered with symbols that look like Arabic but are much older. I know you have it."
Don Coyote was still smiling. "I can assure you in unaccustomed sincerity that such an object is not in my possession, sir."
"Dat's right," Maroon broke in. "The boss ain't got it."
As soon as the man said that, Bane spun and hurtled from the room, leaping down the stairs four at a time and diving out the door to outside. He was gone before Coyote or Maroon could react, and they gaped as if he had disappeared like a magic trick.
Out in the parking lot, he spotted Plum and Pink lumbering at a pitiful pace. They were yelling incoherently at a rusted blue Dodge pick-up truck that had just pulled out into traffic.
Bane's enhanced speed was never more evident. He blurred past Plum and Pink so fast that they both fell down at the surprise. In an instant, he was out on the street and, as the truck slowed but did not stop at the corner, the Dire Wolf seized the tailgate and vaulted headlong into the bed of the truck. There, still standing upright, was the Jar of the Djinn.
The pick-up slowed and started to pull over to the curb. He could hear the driver say "What the hayll..?" in a Southern accent. Seizing the jar under one arm, Bane dove out of the truck bed while the vehicle was still in motion, kept his footing as he alit and took off at a full run with the ancient artifact in his arms. He had been working just on instinct the past minute. As soon as Maroon had said that Don Coyote did not have the jar, Bane had finished that sentence with "any more" and figured that it might be in the hands of the two goons downstairs.
Now, as he raced back toward the parking lot, the Dire Wolf was pleased in one part of his brain to find that he was still capable of stunts like this. As far as he could tell, he hadn't lost any speed or agility over the years. Sooner or later, he would feel age sneak up on him but not yet. He entered the open gate in the wire fence and saw Plum and Pink heading toward him.
"Don't even think about it!" he yelled. "I took it easy on you before." As that brought Plum to an uncertain halt, Bane went past them toward his car. He reached in his pants pocket and found his keys, chirped the alarms off and unlocked the doors. Placing the jar carefully on the back seat, he reset everything and stepped back. For the first time that day, he felt like things were going in the right direction.
Bane turned just as Plum lunged forward with open hands. Too quickly for anyone to follow, a three part combination of backfist, hook and backfist cracked against the big man's head. Plum twirled completely around and fell on his back, and a second later began to snore. Gazing down at the senseless bulk at his feet, Bane felt a guilty twinge at how close he had come to losing control completely. This fool had not done anything that merited being killed by a punch.
Turning to glare at Pink, he pointed at the cinder block building. "Go get Moron and Don Coyote! Get them down here right now."
"His name's Maroon, not moron--"
"I don't care anymore! Just get them down here." As the frizzy-haired redhead loped toward the door on the side of the building, Bane knelt and examined the senseless Plum. Breathing was even, pulse was steady. The guy would likely be fine. He rose and waited for Coyote to appear.
III.
A few minutes later, Bane had everyone assembled in front of the building. He had dragged the snoring Plum over and propped him up against the weathered wall. As far as he could tell, Plum would weigh well over three hundred pounds, making him much heavier than he looked. Once everything was settled, he wanted to find out what the goon's secret was.
Don Coyote was leaning on a slim ebony cane with a silver handle. He saw Plum leaning against the wall and gasped audibly. "I didn't think anything could do that to a brute like him. Did you use a hammer?"
"I'll hit you the same way if you don't watch it," Bane said. "Listen, I'm leaving the three goons here behind. Although I should call the local police and press all sort of charges, beginning with possession of stolen property." He paused. "As long as we have a moment, why was the jar in the back of that truck? Where was it going?"
"How would I know?" Pink asked in his usual vacant tones. "We was gonna hide it somewhere before you found it and we got in an argyment. Plum put it down in the back of the truck so he could yell at me and the driver pulled out before we knew it."
"See?" Maroon shouted. "You nincompoops can't be trusted to flip a light switch without flooding the bathtub. Every time I leave youse alone..."
"Save it," said Bane. "You two take care of your buddy there. He'll wake up with a headache. Coyote, you're coming with me, let's go."
"I say, I say... why should I be doing that, sir?" the old man sputtered.
"I'm running out of patience with you jokers," Bane said in a dangerously polite tone. "You saw me move. If I wanted to, I'd just knock you out before you saw it coming. But I'll let you get in the car on your own."
"Well, if you put it THAT way...." Don Coyote placed a tan fedora over his white hair and tilted it at a precise angle. "Maroon, hold down the fort until I return. Oh, and get Plum out of sight before some alky goes through his pockets."
Bane turned off the Trom alarms of his car, unlocked the doors and watched Coyote get into the passenger seat. He gave a grim look to the two goons. "I'll be back and we will have a real serious talk," he told them before getting behind the wheel.
III.
It was a ninety minute drive back to New York. When Bane had to stop for gas, he made Don Coyote get out of the car and stand by it just as a precaution before they were on their way again. Then the old man said he needed a bathroom break and something to eat, so twenty minutes were lost that way. The rest of the drive was in silence, but as they entered Manhattan, Coyote suddenly got itchy and started trying to make deals.
"I say, son, you've got that piece of pottery you wanted, surely you don't need a sick old man on your hands. Just let me off at the next red light and I'll be on my way-"
"Not up to me," Bane answered with a total lack of interest. "That jar belongs to Paul Winslow. Once he identifies it, it's up to him whether he wants to press charges or not." He glanced at the dashboard clock. "Nine-thirty. I'll have him come to my office to settle everything."
Coyote started to twist around to get a better look at the blue jar in the back and instantly a lean hand clamped tight around his neck. "Ack! See here... you're choking me, boy."
"I could if I wanted to," Bane answered. "I told you to just sit still. You may not realize how dangerous that jar is, but I do!"
As he was releashed from that grip, Coyote touched his throat gingerly. "No need to be so drastic, my boy. What could possibly be in there to pose such a threat?"
Bane hesitated. "You don't need to know. You've always been on the outskirts of the Midnight War, Coyote. Better for you to keep it that way." At 44th Street, he turned onto Third Avenue. There was a four-story yellow brick building with a small parking lot in front, and he eased into an available space. Shutting off the engine, he pointed a reprimanding finger at Coyote. "Behave. Come with me and don't start anything. I'm trying to make this easy on you."
"Oh, very well," muttered the old man. As he unbuckled his seat belt and got out, placing his fedora back on his head, Coyote heaved a melodramatic sigh. "I am so misunderstood..."
"Yeah right," Bane said. He got the blue jar from the back seat, locked the car and set the alarms. "Come on. Keep quiet." The Dire Wolf brought him through the double glass doors which slid open automatically, past the EMERGENCY ONE walk-in clinic which was open to eleven, and down a short hallway made between a wall and the side of the staircase going up to the second floor. Here was a plain wooden door with a brass plaque that said DIRE WOLF AGENCY.
Keeping one eye on the old con artist, Bane unlocked the outer door and ushered him into a tiny waiting room just big enough for a coffee table and two chairs. As Coyote huffed and acted exasperated, Bane opened the inner door to lead him into the office itself. Only with both doors locked behind them did the Dire Wolf flick on the lights and carefully place the blue jar on the floor of the closet. He closed that door as well.
Coyote was looking the office over. On the far wall facing him was a leather couch under the long curtained window which would have shown Third Avenue. To his left was a waist-high bookcase and a small refrigerator, to the right was a desk with three straightback chairs facing it. Everything was neat and tidy, except for a pile of newspapers and magazines on top of the bookcase.
"The Dire Wolf Agency," he proclaimed dramatically. "Scourge of the underworld, I take it?"
"More than one Underworld," Bane answered. "Sit in a chair. We'll get this over with soon." Moving behind his desk, he picked up the cordless phone from its charger, dialed a number and had a brief conversation. As he hung up, he said, "Winslow is on his way. I'd give him fifteen minutes, he's not far uptown. Anything you want to bring up before he arrives?"
The old grifter had removed his hat and was fiddling with it as he spoke. "Ahem. Well, you should know that I certainly did not enter this Winslow person's home to purloin any ceramic jar. My advanced years make such an athletic effort quite impossible-"
"You didn't do it personally," Bane interrupted. "But I met your three goons tonight. They don't have enough brains to change a light bulb together, but you're an experienced thief. One thing needs to be cleared up, Coyote. You don't know about that jar. You would have stolen something more obviously valuable from the Winslow collection. So, the question is, who are you working for?"
"Sir! What kind of question is that to ask a gentleman?"
"The same kind the NYPD will be asking you, but they'll be doing it in a small room with a bright light in your face," Bane said. "Well?"
"I have nothing to add," Coyote declared.
"Fine with me. It'll be up to Winslow to call the cops up here, and I know you have a few outstanding warrants in Florida." Bane leaned back in his swivel chair. They stared at each other for a few minutes, and then the outer doorbell rang.
"You stay put," Bane warned Coyote, getting up and going back to the waiting room. He glanced up at the monitor screen high up in one corner and recognized Paul Winslow, son of the occult expert Micah Winslow and heir to a huge collection of ancient talismans and artifacts. Even as he let Winslow in, Bane threw a glance back to make sure Don Coyote had not budged.
Something was wrong. In a split-second, he sensed something he could not specify, but decades of experience had him on alert. It wasn't Coyote. Bane swiveled toward Paul Winslow just as the air shimmered around the man like heat on a highway in the summer sun, and Maroon was standing there with an automatic in his hand. Bane's left hand flashed quicker than a cobra striking, gripping the strange man's wrist but for once, he was a tiny of a fraction too slow. The gun fired, deafeningly loud in the tiny waiting room, and three heavy .45 slugs exploded point-blank into Bane's chest. The impact felt like getting hit by a speeding truck. Bane tumbled over backwards, breaking the coffee table as he landed on it.
The flexible Trom armor under his clothes dissipated most of the impact over its surface, preventing any penetration and reducing damage to a fraction of what would have been instantly fatal. But while the armor was good, it wasn't perfect and Bane had the breath knocked completely out of him. He sprawled on the broken table, vaguely moving his arms and legs for a moment as he fought to remain conscious. If Maroon had gone for a head shot then, Bane would have been killed.
But the strange man with the black bangs obviously figured he had finished him. Maroon yelled, "C'mon you two nitwits, get in here!" Pink and Plum squeezed clumsily into the waiting room and closed the door to the hall behind them.
"Golly, Maroon, ya moidered him," Plum muttered in a tiny voice.
"Whaddaya think I meant to do? Let's go, let's go. Boss, you okay in there?"
Don Coyote had appeared in the inner door, grinning wickedly. "Fine work, yes indeed. I knew you boys wouldn't let me down. You followed us here?"
"Not exactly. We took the Thruway. But we knew where that jerk's office was, right where you told us," Maroon said. He chuckled, "My illusions don't last long but I don't need them to."
Coyote clapped him on one shoulder approvingly. "Our next step is to claim that blue jar in the closet and make ourselves scarce, then."
The chunky man shook his shaven head sadly. "Ya know, I was hopin' to duke it out with that Wolf guy again. I'd clobber the bum...!"
As he spoke, a strong hand seized his shoulder and spun him around into a furious left hook that snapped his head almost over against his own shoulder. As Plum reeled and fell to the carpet, Jeremy Bane stepped around him and lunged at the others. Maroon only caught a glimpse of icy grey eyes flashing at him before an uppercut whipped up from knee level to slam his jaw shut and crack two teeth. Maroon landed on top of the moaning Plum, completely unconscious.
Bane kicked the .45 out of Maroon's limp hand and swung to face Pink, who was only now seeming to realize what had happened. "Stay where you are!" the Dire Wolf roared in a voice he seldom used. "I don't know what odd power you might have, but try to use it and you're dead. You got me?"
The redhead nodded quickly, hands raised, a look of complete terror on his simple face. His eyes were bulging comically.
Behind Bane, Don Coyote had turned toward where the automatic had been kicked away and started to take a step toward it. Seemingly without looking, Bane gave him a backhanded slap to the cheek that knocked the old man to his knees. "I haven't forgotten about you," the Dire Wolf said coldly. He felt his chest tentatively and decided no ribs had been cracked, but his whole upper body ached and burned. He hadn't been hurt like that for a long time.
"Striking an old man..." Don Coyote mumbled as he got up.
"Shut up! Your goon just tried to murder me. You're lucky if you get out of this office alive, Coyote. You, with the red hair, go stand over by your boss." As Pink obeyed and helped Don Coyote up, Bane stood where he could watch everyone at the same time.
"All right, what's the deal with these three? Where do they get those powers?" Bane demanded.
"They were born that way," Don Coyote grudgingly answered. "They're cousins. Someone told me they manifested strange abilities during puberty. They've been in and out of jail all their lives. I gave them a place to stay and planned a few, ah... projects to keep them busy."
"Heists, you mean. Well, that's over now." Bane saw that neither Plum nor Maroon showed any signs of coming back to awareness at the moment. The front bell rang again. He pointed a finger at Coyote. "That will be Winslow. You two stay put. Remember, I've done all this while pulling my punches. Don't get me really mad."
Opening the door to the hall, Bane saw Paul Winslow again, but this time it was the real person. Just thirty, Winslow had the perfect teeth and impeccable grooming and tailored suit that a wealthy upbringing bestows. He would certainly have been a good-looking young man in any case. "Mr Bane? I came here as quickly as I could..."
"Thank you," the Dire Wolf said as he rushed the man into the waiting room and closed the door to the hall. He gave Winslow a few seconds to take in the situation in the office. Don Coyote and Pink were standing with their hands partially raised, afraid to move, and in front of them were two unconscious men piled together.
"Come in," Bane told him. "There was some trouble a few minutes ago. These are the men who stole that jar from your home. I retrieved it. Here they are."
Paul Winslow opened his mouth and closed it without managing to say to anything. Finally, he squeaked, "Ah, well, thank you."
"Part of the job," Bane answered as he went over to the closet and emerged with the heavy blue jar in hand. The metal cap which sealed its mouth had an arcane symbol printed on it, and the writing along its sides resembled Arabic but, as only Bane among them knew, dated back thousands of years earlier. "This is what the fuss was all about."
Maroon and Plum groaned and stirred, starting to revive. The Dire Wolf glanced over at them, and at that moment Pink gestured with both hands. A barely visible haze of gralic energy encircled the jar. "I told you not to try anything," Bane snapped as he lunged for the artifact but the metal cap had already popped off like a cork from a champagne bottle.
A thick swirl of black smoke gushed out from that ancient blue jar, spinning like a dark tornado. Near its top, two brilliant golden eyes gleamed.
IV.
Bane pushed Winslow behind him, partly into the doorway. He had faced two Djinn in his career. The first time, some quick thinking had trapped the being back inside its prison but the second encounter had been with an older, more powerful Djinn. That fight had lasted twenty minutes and left Bane with a broken arm and second degree burns before he had cut the Djinn into fragments too small to reform. He had not been looking forward to another such encounter, yet here he was.
The pillar of smoke five feet tall swirled and drew tighter upon itself. Gold streaks raced through the dark vapor, and two crude semblances of arms began to form. From within the smoke, a woman's voice spoke the traditional salutation, "What is thy bidding, oh my master?"
"Oh, Afifa, it's good to see you're okay," Winslow answered, speaking around past the dumfounded Bane.
"I haven't slept since you were stolen while I was away."
Drawing still denser, the dark cloud flashed with a burst that lit the room and a gorgeous young blonde woman was standing there in a harem outfit. She wore red slippers, translucent pink pantaloons and a snug white vest that was open over a curvy torso. Her golden hair was fastened with a stiff headpiece like a tiara. As she appeared in view, both Don Coyote and Pink gasped audibly. "This humble one is pleased to be in your presence, master," she answered but with a winsome smile that contradicted the formal tone.
"This... this is your Djinn?" Bane finally managed to ask.
As Winslow took the woman's small hand, he grinned blissfully. "Oh yes. Afifa is a very young Djinn."
"No more than five hundred years old," she added helpfully. "A mere babe according to my kindred."
"Well," the Dire Wolf said after a minute, "I really don't know what to say. I guess I'm glad that you two are glad to be.. reunited?"
"Thank you," said Paul Winslow. He looked disdainfully down at where Plum and Maroon were just beginning to stir. "Afifa, do you think you could roust those two so we can get them away from here?"
"To hear is to obey." The blonde spirit waved a hand casually, sending a wave of gralic force crackling over the two goons on the floor. They both twitched violently, struggled to their feet and staggered over to where Coyote and Pink were standing. From the glazed expressions, neither Plum nor Maroon had any clear idea what was going on.
Afifa lowered her hand, fixing a cool gaze on the bizarre assortment of characters staring back at her. "These are the dogs to dared lay hands upon my jar..?" she whispered.
"Yep. Don Coyote and his three goons." Bane still had not relaxed and was ready to react instantly if this woman showed any signs of attacking. She seemed to not be a threat, but just because she had taken the form of a beautiful woman didn't mean she was not still a Djinn. "I figure they were going to sell you to another collector of Midnight War artifacts."
"I see." Afifa sighed and turned back to Winslow. "You know I am forbidden by the Pact to slay a mortal, my master. That is their good fortune for I am not pleased with these fools."
"Let's forget them and return home. We have lost time to make up for." Winslow placed an arm around her shoulders and she snuggled up to him.
"Ah, love in the springtime of youth," Coyote observed as he placed his fedora on his head. "All's well that end well, as the Bard observed-"
"Hold it." Bane stopped the man with a cold look. "You're not going anywhere. If I were a regular person, your goons would have killed me today. Maroon shot me pointblank in the chest and Plum did his best to beat me senseless. All four of you are up on burglary and possession of stolen property charges."
The fat bald one curled up beefy fists and snorted. "Why you--" He stamped a foot like a bull ready to charge, but the clear voice of Afifa halted him.
"You three are kin by blood, are you not?" she asked quietly.
"They are first cousins," said Don Coyote, "Can't you tell they are related?"
She smiled with a touch of glee. "And you three, what is your phrase, stick together?"
"Yeah, dat's right!" Maroon shouted. "One for all and all for one and three for a quarter. We're inseperable."
"I am so gratified to hear that," said the blonde. She swept both hands toward the blue jar which still sat on Bane's desk. In an instant, the three goons collapsed and became three funnels of black smoke which whirled around the room and streamed into the open mouth of the jar. Bane had caught on as soon as he saw the transformation. He lunged and capped the silver plug over the mouth of the jar, jamming it down as tightly as he could. From within, he could just hear faint voices yelling and arguing.
"The containment jar may not be empty for long," Afifa said. "That is our penance for what was done when the world was young. Still, better that these ruffians be in there than myself." She batted curling lashes at Winslow. "Do you approve, my master?"
"Oh absolutely," Winslow said. He laughed out loud. "Having to wait six days for you to emerge from that jar for a brief twenty-four hours was torture. They can stay in there a while, I think."
"No more than a thousand years," Afifa smiled.
Don Coyote had actually started to try to sneak past Bane, but a steely hand clamped down on his shoulder with painful force. "Ah! Easy there, son, no need to break any bones!"
"That just leaves you," Bane said. "But I can't see taking you to court now. Am I going to show the judge the jar with the little voices coming out of it? Is the Djinn here going to take the witness stand? No. You're too old for me to just beat the hell out of, too. Maybe I'll let you go with a warning to never show up in my town again. Deal?"
"Fair enough, well spoke, I'll be leaving now." As he hurried out the door, Don Coyote gave a wistful glance at the blue jar. "See you boys when you get out." And he was gone.
Paul Winslow by now had his arm around Afifa's tiny waist and she was pressed up against him with a warmth that left no doubt as to their intentions. "Thank you for retrieving the jar, Mr Bane," he said. "I owe you much more than your fee. Without Afifa, my life would be empty."
Bane handed him the blue jar, which suddenly felt much heavier. "Glad to help. I don't always have a case end this happily."
Afifa stared up at him with huge cobalt blue eyes. "For a man of the West, you do not seem surprised to meet an actual genie, sir."
"Oh, I've tangled with a Djinn or two in my time," Bane told her. "But certainly you're my favorite genie."
10/31/2014
