dochermes

"Slaughterman"

3/22/2009

I.

From the floor in the corner of the living room, Bane watched the crooks as they stood near the windows. He had not really expected them to let any of the hostages go when he had surrendered himself. Half-sitting up, he tested his bonds. He was tied with wet clothesline, both wrists bound together behind him painfully tight. They had yanked off his jacket, removed his pistol and patted him down before tying him up, then forgotten about him.

As soon as their attention was elsewhere, the Dire Wolf carefully got his fingertips at the top of one boot. Years ago, he had started to order his boots handmade, with steel caps on toes and heels, as well as one more item. A ridge at the top of each boot was actually the raised back of a razor blade concealed in a slit. Without moving more than his fingers, Bane drew the blade out and cut through the clothesline. Long hours of practice let him do this without more than a nick or two. The bonds came loose.

One of the bank robbers turned to look at him suspiciously. He had lowered his Glock and held it loosely in one hand. The other one, the more dangerous one with the uneasy eyes, was peering out the window at the police car. There were only two officers and a plainclothesman out there. The robber shifted his grip on the shotgun.

Without any preliminary movements, Bane snapped up off the floor and plunged six feet at the robbers in a split-second. The one with the pistol took a full power backfist that twisted his head around until he looked down past his own shoulder, spinning him to crash to the floor. Sensing the motion behind him, the other robber swiveled, raising his shotgun but it was yanked away from him with a roughness that broke his trigger finger. In the same movement, Bane spun the shotgun in a vertical arc that hammered its barrel to the side of the man's face. That one also fell to the floor like a sack of wet laundry.

Bane put the shotgun far to one side, then lunged to pick up the Glock and also place it far out of reach. The Dire Wolf looked back over one shoulder where the Rourke family huddled terrified on their own couch. "It's all right!" he called loudly to them, speaking slowly to make his point. "They are both knocked out. I took their guns away. It's all over."

Very uncertainly, the father stood up. He was a soft, balding man in shorts and a white polo shirt. "I never saw anything like that. You just... you just rushed them before they could blink." He held out his hand to help his wife up, and the granddaughter had already jumped to her feet. "Who ARE you?"

"I'm nobody special," said Bane. Picking up a cell phone one of the crooks had dropped, he called the number of the plainclothes detective outside. "Lt Montez, it's all over. I'm opening the door. I will be dragging these losers out, tell the officers to hold their fire."

"Gotcha, Bane. Good work," came the gruff voice.

The Dire Wolf paused to retrieve his own pistol from the younger robber before grabbing the man under the arms and hauling him through the doorway. Outside, bright early spring sunlight struck him after being inside the dimly lit home. One cop handcuffed the prisoner, while the other officer came in to help Bane carry the other one outside as well.

"This guy has a dislocated jaw!" one officer said. "Man, they are both out for the count. What did you hit them with?"

"Oh, you know, just training and experience," Bane said, going back in. He retrieved his black sport jacket and tugged it on. "You folks all right?"

Mr Rourke came to shake hands vigorously. "I need to thank you. Anything I have is yours. When those bastards broke in here and held us at gunpoint, I thought we didn't have a chance. We were as good as dead. Then you came in, and they tied you up, and I thought you were a goner, too." He wouldn't let go of Bane's hand. "How can I repay you?"

Embarrassed, Bane disentangled himself. "It's my job," he said. "I don't need any reward." For once, the Dire Wolf decided against asking this man to join his network of observers. He headed out to where the bulk of Lt Joseph Montez loomed over the unconscious robbers. "You read them their rights yet?"

Montez snorted. He had been putting on weight again as trips to the gym had start becoming less frequent and boxes of donuts more so. "They won't be in any condition to listen. You hit them any harder and we would be calling for the coroner, Bane."

"It takes some judgement," Bane admitted. "Well, I guess I will be going about my business. I can come down to 20th Street and file a statement later?"

"No," Montez said. "I need to talk to you. The officers can watch these goons until the ambulance gets here. But even before you turned up, I had something you might be interested in."

"Something weird and gruesome, I expect?"

"Yep. Right up Dire Wolf territory. Listen. Earlier this morning, all LE agencies got a news flash. Up near Cayudoga Lake upstate. Richard Moore Dorsett escaped custody. That's right, Slaughterman."

Bane turned and looked at Montez with a new alertness. "Well. I didn't think I would hear that name again. Last I knew, he was in Federal custody and so-called experts were studying him."

"Cutting him up and watching him heal in seconds, more like it. I got rumors. Dorsett is a freak of some kind. You put a bullet in his chest, it pops out again an hour later. He got run over by a freaking Dodge pick-up and he sat up and started chasing it. I heard of people with good healing but that's crazy. And... I thought maybe you had some inside dope."

"Oh yes." Bane got closer and lowered his voice, which made Montez uneasy. "I tangled with Slaughterman twice, back in the old days. He regenerates, all right. By now, his powers must be weakening, though."

"You can tell me, Bane, How does it work? How can he heal up bullet holes and grow new skin after being set on fire?"

The Dire Wolf took a deep breath. "This is one of the things I know that you will find hard to believe, lieutenant. All the biologists they call in will never figure out Slaughterman, because he doesn't work by the laws of nature. He runs on gralic magick, based on a Darthan spell. That's right, when he kills somebody, he sucks in some of their lifefore and uses it to keep himself going. In a way, he's a vampire."

"Goddam. I used to laugh at stuff like that. But you know, I keep seeing things and learning things. Instead of drinking blood, he takes what? Vitality?"

"Exactly," Bane said. "It's been years since he has been in custody. His lifeforce must be getting low. My bet is that he made this break because it's his last chance."

"And you... you're going after him?"

"I am," said Bane emphatically. "Right away."

"Let me give you a lift. You heading back to your office?"

"Yes. Thank you." The two men walked over to Montez' unmarked car. "You remember Samhain?" asked Bane.

"Oh Christ protect us, how could I forget that devil? You brought in him a few times, too, didn't ya."

"And Seneca. They all had that same healing factor, based on stolen lifeforce. Samhain was the worst because he was intelligent and cunning. He would have been a serial killer even without his powers. Seneca, on the other hand, was just a beast. He didn't know why he was killing, he just did it."

As he navigated traffic with the ease of long practice, Lt Montez said, "Klein was right about you. Just before he retired, he told me you was like a guard dog protecting a bunch of sheep from predators they didn't even know about."

The faintest of smiles turned up the corners of Bane's thin lips. "Good old Harold Klein. He didn't trust me at first, even tried running me in a few times. It took years before he agreed we should work together."

"Same here. I'll tell you the truth, the boys at NYPD all say to never mention this in public, that it's all unofficial and off the records, but they told me when I transferred here that you should be called in for crimes too bizarre or unexplainable for the regular force to handle."

"It's what I do. It's my nature, can't change." At a red light, Bane opened the door. "I'll get out here, lieutenant. Thanks. I'll report as soon as things are settled." With that, the Dire Wolf stepped out and hopped up on the curb. 58th Street. He began moving fast, crossing over a few blocks. There was his bank. Going in, Bane asked to see his safe deposit box. A chunky young woman in a black and white striped dress let him into the vault and opened the compartment where he kept a wide flat metal box. She left him alone in a tiny cubicle. Bane spun two combination dials on the metal box and opened it. Some interesting items were in here. A tiny gold skull, a stone arrowhead, two green stars made of soft stone, a chamois bag full of cyrinkyl, some legal papers, a few keys. There was a bundle of fifty and twenty dollar bills. And the Eldar travel crystal.

Bane regarded it somberly. This was a relic of his earlier career with the KDF. It was a pale blue faceted gem, just small enough to fit within one hand, set in a pale gold frame. There were only eleven of these in the real world, as far as he knew, and he had seldom used this one since he had stepped down as KDF Director and re-opened his own PI agency. With a barely audible sigh, he closed off memories and slipped the crystal into the side pocket of his jacket. He locked the box and had the bank officer return it to its compartment, then went back on the street. Walking briskly, he got to 44th Street and 3rd Avenue quicker than he would have done in a car. Here was the small yellow brick building. He hurried through the lobby, down the short hall that ended in an EXIT ONLY alarmed door, and unlocked the plain wooden door that had a brass plate reading DIRE WOLF AGENCY.

Thumbing on the overhead lights, Bane went through the tiny waiting room to his office. At his desk, he checked for messages. Quite a few but nothing urgent. So far, he had managed to keep his office from getting too cluttered. There was the big oak desk with its reading lamp, a few plain wooden chairs scattered in front of it. To his right, facing 3rd Avenue, a leather sofa sat under the wide window with opaque curtains. There was a short endtable with a lamp at each end of the couch; the lamps did not quite match, but he had never gotten around to replacing them. In the far left corner, a door opened to a tiny compartment with a toilet and sink but no shower.

Bane had added a three shelf bookcase on the wall facing his desk, now starting to fill up with newspapers, clippings, general debris he threw there. The Dire Wolf unlocked hidden wheels on the bookcase and spun it away to reveal a compartment sunk into the ground. When he left this office, he expected he would have to pay a hefty fine for some of the unauthorized changes he had made, including this hiding place. Bane tugged up a trunk, carried it over and dropped it in the center of the room. Sudden excitement made his heart beat faster. He hadn't used this gear in too long a time.

Bane stripped off his outer clothes. He was already wearing a bodysuit of flexible grey metal which looked like wet silk with a faint sheen. He seldom went anywhere without this armor. The Trom-metal was not invincible but it gave good protection up to high-power rifle slugs. He drew on tough black pants with a number of flap pockets, then a black crewneck shirt of the same durable material. Under the sleeves, he fastened the sheaths of the silver-bladed daggers he had used his entire career. They had been a gift from Kenneth Dred, and Bane would have held on to them no matter what else he had to give up in life. He fixed straps to the ensalir setting on the Eldar travel crystal and tied it securely high on his back, between his shoulder blades. Then came a black waist-length jacket of a tough leathery material, also fitted with several flap pouches and inner pockets.

Digging through the trunk, Bane began stowing odd equipment in various pockets. Some was conventional, like a small first aid kit in a plastic box or a multiple-bladed tool knife, but most had been handcrafted for his use years ago. From a padded setting in the trunk, he took out an air gun with an extended barrel. For decades, he had used anesthetic darts in this to take enemies alive, but now he slid a clip of resonance caps in and clicked it shut. He buckled the gunbelt so the holster would be behind his left hip, hidden by the jacket.

Finally, Bane raised what looked like a black motorcycle helmet and lowered it over his head. It connected to the high collar of the jacket. He lowered the visor and saw the read-outs start on the heads-up display. Perfect. He knew Leonard Slade had guaranteed the Trom power source had an active usefulness longer than Bane's own life would be, but it was reassuring to check. The Dire Wolf slid up the visor again to its track inside the helmet. He felt good wearing the field suit. It brought back many memories and wearing it gave him a thrill of anticipation. Moving quicker than ever, he returned the trunk to its hiding place and swiveled the bookcase over it.

Now to see if he could see use the Eldar crystal. With it fastened to his back, since he was already in contact and did not need to place his fingers on it. Bane half-closed his eyes and visualized where he wanted to be. It was not enough to half-heartedly wish to gate, you had to put full-out will power into the effort. Bane concentrated hard. There came a silent flare of pale blue light and, when it faded, the office was empty.

( the rest of the story )

BASILISK III: "The Kingdom of the Lost"

4/13/-4/14/2009

I.

Just as the sky was beginning to grow dark, Jeremy Bane eased his Toyota Matrix into an available space on East 38th Street, just past the Lexington Avenue intersection. Only a few people could be seen outside. An old man digging through litter baskets, a young couple running in matching warm-up suits, a woman carrying two big suitcases and stomping her feet in anger over something.

As that woman passed the Toyota, she had no clue that she was being intensely scrutinized by four pairs of suspicious eyes. Nor that the small blonde in the front passenger seat had her own hand on the grip of a silenced Walther P22 and was almost eager to use it at any hint that the passerby was not an innocent civilian. Behind the wheel, Bane nodded and said, "Everything looks clear to me. What do you guys think?"

In the back seat were two handsome men both around thirty, both wearing neat dark suits with white shirts and thin ties. Holden Crest, top enforcement agent for INTERCEPT, had almost movie-star good looks with wavy dark brown hair and a cleft chin. "Okay as far as I can see. John?"

Beside him, John Lewis Ashcroft from the London office took a second to confirm. He was a black man with very dark skin, short-shaven hair and a winning confident smile. "Quite. Still, one had best be on his toes."

In the passenger seat, Dandelion grumbled. Her platinum blonde hair was pulled up into a swirl on the back of her head. The most dangerous assassin of her era, she grudgingly said, "I guess. But I can't get a good look at that roof across the street..."

"I'll get out first," Bane told them. "With all of you keeping your eyes peeled, what could go wrong?" The Dire Wolf slid out from behind the steering wheel and hiked briskly up to the ten story stone building in the middle of the block. Five wide steps led up to an oaken door which had the number 28 on it and a bronze plaque, KENNETH DRED FOUNDATION. As he placed his foot on the top step, before he could press the buzzer, he was stopped by a man's voice from some concealed speaker, "Ah! Good morning, captain."

"Hi, Josef. Glad to see you're on watch."

"Please come in," answered the voice as the locks clicked the heavy door swung outward by itself. Bane waved for the others to join him. As the three agents jumped out of the car and hurried up to the steps, Bane moved inside the small foyer. It held little more than a bench, a table with magazines and a lamp. On the wall to the left was an oil portrait of a white-haired gnomish man labelled KENNETH DRED 1900-1979.

"Hold on, everyone. I know it's a tight squeeze." Bane got them all in on top of each other. A series of low humming noises and a scent of ozone were perceptible, then the man's voice continued, "All of you have positive IDS. But you know KDF policy. Those firearms have to be surrendered before the inner door opens."

"Right, Josef." Bane flipped up the seat of the bench to reveal a padded interior, into which he placed his long-barreled Smith & Wesson. "All right, all the guns in here. It's a rule."

Both Crest and Ashcroft complied, but Dandelion hesitated. She was a small woman, wearing a waist-length denim jacket, and she made no move to cooperate.

"Dandelion, you'll have to stay out here then." Bane's voice was not angry, just firm. "No one brings a gun inside."

In obvious bad temper, the blonde pulled two of the silenced Walthers from the built-in holsters inside her jacket, then got a third from the small of her back. She placed them into the bench and straightened up.

"Come on, you know better," Bane said.

Finally, she drew a tiny one-shot derringer from inside her boot and added it to the collection. As the lid closed, it locked with a decisive click. "Happy now?"

"Yeah, very happy." Bane made room as the inner door swung toward them and they saw the front hall. Standing there was the Blind Archer. Josef Jubilec was tall and lanky, dressed in a plain white T-shirt and black jeans. The muscles in his chest and arms stood out dramatically, a bit overdeveloped from a lifetime pulling a bow. Josef had short sandy hair and watchful blue eyes in a weahered face.

"Hello, captain," the Blind Archer said in his faint accent. "What brings you and your friends here?"

"Gang war between espionage groups," answered Bane bluntly. "Who's on base, Josef?"

"Only myself and Megan. Unicorn and Argent are guarding someone from a Kulan attack. Sable is at Tel Shai for testing. Perhaps we can all step into the reception room?"

"Good idea," Bane said. He headed to the first door on the left, a neatly appointed room mostly used for visitors who did not need to see too much. There was a lot of open space. To the right was a desk under a hand-painted map of the world; facing the door as one entered was a long leather couch, and a half dozen straightback chairs were scattered about. Against the left wall was a waist-high bookcase on which an aquarium filled with bizarre specimens from Ulgor sat.

Glancing at the desk, Bane turned away. He had stepped down as leader of the KDF team and did not feel it was his place to sit there again, giving orders. Instead, he motioned for everyone to arrange chairs facing each other. When all were seated, with Dandelion claiming the couch for herself, the Dire Wolf recapped the situation for Josef. In so doing, he also clarified what had been going on in everyone's minds.

"There you have it," he finished. "My plan is to lead these three here to attack BASILISK headquarters and tackle the Master Mind. The silent dog whistles are what I'm hoping will give us an edge. Finding two of them is no coincidence, right?"

Josef grinned. He missed working with Bane sometimes. "I think what we need now is our Trom Girl to get busy. Let me page her." He took his Link from his belt and thumbed a button. Instantly, a young woman's voice answered as prompt and alert as if she had been waiting for the call.

"Yes, Josef?"

"Jeremy is here with some friends. Are you curious to see what's going on?"

"On my way," answered the voice. Bane and Josef exchanged amused glances.

"So this is the headquarters of the Kenneth Dred Foundation," said Ashcroft. "I'd heard so many wild rumors! Do you know how badly our superiors ache to get in here?"

"I can imagine. But the worlds of the KDF and your MI 6 only overlap a bit here and there." Bane stood up again, perpetually restless and went over to examine the fish tank. There was the starfish with the single red eye in its center, there were the hermit crabs who had built their own little town, but the luminous squid was gone. Without turning around, he continued, "The Midnight War gives us enough to keep busy."

Megan Salenger appeared in the doorway, brushing her shock of black hair back with her fingers. She was wearing sneakers, white pants and a dark blue jersey with a one-button collar. Just thirty, her slim build and gamin face made her look quite a bit younger. As she entered, the Trom Girl allowed herself a smile. Her upbringing of repressing emotion and maintaining a deadpan demeanour had gradually been eroded by experiences with her teammates. "Captain! I am pleased to see you."

"Sorry to roust you again," Bane said. After quickly summarizing what had been going on, the Dire Wolf produced one of the little tin whistles. "So, my theory is that somehow-"

Reaching for the whistle, Megan interrupted gracelessly, "I understand. It will take a little more than a hour to fabricate signal emitters for your team. I think it will be best to program them for constant broadcast." She spun on her heel to head for the door, but Bane stopped her with a word.

"Hold on a second, Megan. While you're doing that, I think the rest of us will getting supper. What would you like on your tray?"

Despite her efforts to remain deadpan, the Trom Girl grinned. "You know me well enough, captain," she answered and hurried from the room.

Josef stood up. "Right then. I suggest we all move down to the kitchen where I will appreciate help rustling up food for everyone."

Stretching and unbuttoning his suit jacket, John Lewis Ashcroft stifled a yawn. "Allow me. You haven't experienced the glories of proper English cooking. You do have an electric kettle?"

( the rest of the story )

"BASILISK II: People Are Targets"

(4/12/2009)

I.

The walls were simple red brick, as was the floor. Overhead, bright fluorescent lights shone down to reveal everything in merciless detail. Set in one wall was a metal door without a knob or handle, and a few feet in front of that was a simple wooden table with three folding chairs. A camera over the door rotated back and forth ceaselessly, the air was cold and dry. Two men in the standard black suits and white dress shirts of INTERCEPT stood well apart, each holding an AR-15 at the ready. The bigger man was Samoan, and the shorter thin one was from Colombia, and between them they had twenty-six years experience as INTERCEPT enforcers.

They were watching the holding cell built on a raised platform in the center of the room. All four walls were of high-density clear acrylic. Its only door locked from outside with an electronic mechanism, and there was a slot near the floor where meal trays could be slid through. Inside the cell were only three items. A stainless steel toilet, with a roll of paper sitting on the floor next to it. A stainless steel sink that operated automatically by motion detectors. And a hard thin sleeping mat in one corner with a built-in raised end for a pillow. No blankets, no chairs. Standing by the door of the cell, watching the guards as they watched him, was Jeremy Bane.

In his early fifties, the Dire Wolf remained gaunt and wiry at an even six feet tall. The short black hair had a few white strands in it, but otherwise he did not seem to have aged much over the years. In a narrow feral face, pale grey eyes stabbed out with startling intensity. He stood motionless, hands down at his sides. Oddly, his body was covered with a one-piece skin-tight suit of what looked like wet silk. This left only his feet, hands and head exposed.

A deep beeping sounded in the room. One of the guards stepped back toward the door, while the other kept up his scrutiny of the prisoner. As the metal door slid open with a hiss, two people entered the room briskly. A tall middle-aged woman with white hair and thick-lensed glasses went directly to take a seat at the table in front of the holding cell. Behind Mrs Claire came Holden Crest. INTERCEPT's top agent had bleary eyes and five o'clock shadow, and his necktie was loosened with the top button of his shirt opened. He avoided eye contact with Bane.

In the cell, the Dire Wolf stood with fists on hips and said, "You didn't bring my lawyer."

"You know better than that," Mrs Claire answered tartly. "There are no lawyers in our world. I want you to take that armor off and hand it over."

"Forget it," Bane said. "I'd never see it again. Your techs can't figure out how it works, I take it?"

"No. While you were unconscious, our people tried to get it off you and were baffled. It seems to be one solid piece of material. How do you get it on and off?"

"Forget it," repeated the Dire Wolf. "It's beyond Human knowledge. So I guess you've already searched my clothing?"

"Yes. Some interesting gadgets concealed in there. The tiny lockpick set, the thermite flares, a few devices we can't identify. Your phone shut down as soon as it was a certain distance from you and our people can't seem to activate it." She leaned forward on the table and her voice was silky cold. "Where do you get technology like that, Mr Bane?"

"I can't tell you," he said. "What about the two daggers?"

"Another oddity. Silver blades? What's the point of that? Softer and heavier than steel. They are nicely balanced but we don't see anything else extraordinary about them." She frowned and met his cold stare evenly. "Your gun was a standard Smith & Wesson .38 with an extended barrel. I was expecting one of those anesthetic dart guns I've heard about."

"Let's get to the point," Bane snapped impatiently. "Okay, I was under some sort of post-hypnotic orders from BASILISK. Luckily, Crest there smacked me in the head before I did any real harm. But that was more than eight hours ago and I'm back to normal. You need to let me out so I can go after the freak that is behind all this trouble!"

Mrs Claire paused before going on. "How can we be sure you are not still under BASILISK control? We've done some blood work on you. Our doctors say truth serum would only be effective for a few minutes before your body neutralized it. You have a healing factor we can't explain. From our previous work together, we know you have a high tolerance for pain and a lack of fear response. You seem to be almost impossible to interrogate with success, Mr Bane."

The faintest hint of a smile showed on his face. "First time that has been a disadvantage. Okay, then, how about sending me to work with Crest and a few of your enforcers? I can lead the team to BASILISK headquarters and wipe them out. They must be doing your organization some serious harm by now."

"No. You are just too dangerous. Yesterday you took out two competent enforcers in less than a second and had one of their weapons aimed at me. Only the fact that Crest was alert and ready kept you from assassinating me." Mrs Claire stood up abruptly. "You can't be trusted and you can't be defended against. It's going to be a problem deciding what to do with you, Dire Wolf."

Bane snorted. "While you're holding me, BASILISK is making a mess of both your organization and STIGMA. You need my help, lady, face it."

She did not reply, but simply turned away. There was a keypad by the door, she paused to enter six numbers and slide her ID tag, then marched out of the room. Following her, Crest glanced back and for an instant his regretful eyes met Bane's. Then they both were gone and the door clicked shut.

Left with the two guards staring at him, the Dire Wolf had a strangely excited gleam in his eye. Time to escape.

( the )

"The Best Memories Money Can Buy"

11/2-11/3/2009

I.

Because of his enhanced metabolism, Jeremy Bane was always ravenous. The same Variance that gave him his lightning reflexes and peak motion also meant he burned up calories at a ferocious pace. At six feet even and one hundred and seventy pounds, the Dire Wolf ate enough for three bigger men.

Walking back down Third Avenue toward his office after a fruitless afternoon seeking leads on an extortion case, he decided not to wait for a late lunch. He swung into Mosher's Deli at the corner of 50th Street and immediately stepped to one side after entering. This was automatic procedure with him. A lifetime spent fighting the Midnight War had taught him to always be sure of exits, to determine if any people in the area were as possible threat, to watch for possible ambushes. He was barely aware of doing this, but it was a major factor in his still being alive.

Nothing significant had changed since he had last been in here two weeks ago. There was a middle-aged couple at the table toward the rear, a teenage boy standing by the counter eating a hot dog with everything, a stout woman balefully inspecting the luncheon meat assortment. Judging by their body language, the way their clothing fit, even the tightness in facial muscles, he decided none of them were armed. There was no threat in sight. Even Bane relaxed slightly.

Then he saw Dandelion at the cash register.

Long experience in the desperate game kept him from visibly reacting. The petite woman with a dramatic shock of platinum blonde hair was wearing a slightly stained apron over a regular blue polo shirt. She glanced up at him when he entered but showed no signs of recognition. This was more than unexpected. What was she up to? Bane waited while she took the teenage boy's money, gave him his change and told him to have a nice day with the lack of sincerity usual from service people

What was the most dangerous assassin of her generation doing working in a deli? Was she laying a trap for some target? Was she watching the routines of someone she had been hired to kill?

Well, he wouldn't give her away just yet. For all he knew, she was being watched by agents of the Mandate or STIGMA. Dandelion lived a life on the razor's edge even more than he did. Bane stepped up, gave her a slight nod in greeting. "Hi. I'd like a twelve inch sub. Ham and Swiss Cheese, pickle chips. Toasted, please."

"Anything to drink, sir?" she asked with complete diffidence. She gave him a second look. Bane knew he was a vivid figure in his all-black outfit of slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket, with those pale grey eyes beneath heavy black brows. It was an image he deliberately chose. He was used to people reacting exactly the way she was.

"Yeah, a big bottle of seltzer. Thank you."

"It'll be right up," she said, turning away and going back to the slicer where she was working on a roll of bologna. Bane watched her slipping a piece of wax paper between each slice with practiced dexterity. Over by the grill, a remarkably unattractive man was working on the sub.

Bane had seen Martin Mosher here many times. The son of the original owner, Mosher was in his mid-forties. Short, round about the middle, cursed with frizzy dark red hair and a large bald spot, he had not been gifted with good looks in any way. The big nose looked like a yam, and the mustache did nothing to camouflage that. Bane wondered if Mosher knew exactly who he had hired. Was he himself connected with the underworld or one of the dozen intelligence agencies that Dandy dealt with? The man seemed oblivious to everything except getting that sub assembled and toasted.

Dandelion folded the stack of bologna slices into cling film, placed it in the cooled display case and started taking the slicer apart. There was no doubt it was her, of course. Bane had known her for ten years, since they had been Tel Shai students and she had been expelled by the Teachers for reasons they never explained. Her special ability was incredible ambidextrous accuracy with any firearm. That marksmanship was literally supernatural. Bane himself would be at serious risk going up against her in a quick-draw confrontation.

What seemed ironic to him was that Dandelion did not look at all like a mercenary who killed for huge fees. With her delicate features and slight build, she seemed harmless but her career had proven otherwise. Mosher brought the sub over and Dandy peeled OFF her disposable gloves to take his money. As she handed over his change, their eyes met. For a second. Bane was alarmed at the complete lack of recognition in her gaze. Even for Dandelion, that was good acting.

"Thanks," he said in a casual tone as he could muster.

"Have a nice day," she replied the same way she spoke to every customer, going back to her disassembly of the slicer.

Intensely curious about the whole situation, Bane stepped back out in the unseasonably warm November afternoon and stood in front of the deli while he began working on the sub. Appropriately enough considering his trade name, he wolfed down half of it immediately and washed it down with a big gulp of the seltzer. As he began walking toward his office again, the Dire Wolf finished the sub and crumpled up the wrapper.

What should he do about her? He did not want Dandelion carrying out commissions on his territory. He really would have been happier if she had stayed out of New York City altogether but she never listened to anyone, least of all him. Bane decided he would walk past Mosher's Deli on the opposite side of the street a few times each day for a while to keep an eye on Dandy. He didn't think he should start eating there more often, he was too well known in the dark circles they both inhabited.

Getting close to 44th Street, the Dire Wolf felt he was still hungry. He should have stopped at Mosher's a minute ago...

Wait a minute. He was still holding the crumpled paper and the nearly empty bottle. He HAD been at the deli. There's where he had seen someone he knew. Bane stopped dead in his tracks and swung around to scowl in the direction of Mosher's. Dandelion! She had been working there. And she had shown no sign of knowing him.

This was strange. He never let his concentration wander like that. Why had he experienced that odd lapse? Bane's eyes were normally wary and even cold, but now they almost glittered with intensity. All his warning alarms were going off.

Nearing the four story yellow brick building at 44th, Bane broke into a near sprint through the double glass doors which hissed open automatically. He went past the EMERGENCY ONE CLINIC and down the short dead-end hallway by the staircase. A few seconds later, he dropped down behind his desk and yanked out a notebook from its wide top drawer. Writing as quickly as he could, the Dire Wolf put down what had just happened and then added the date and time.

That might help. He got up, used the tiny bathroom and washed his hands and then went back to his desk. Too bad he wasn't making any progress on that extortion case. His usual sources had been no help. The whole day had been a waste. He was reaching for the office phone when he noticed the notebook. Bane read the entry in his own handwriting, realized he had forgotten all about the Dandelion situation again and felt frightened for the first time in many years.

( the rest of the story )

"Sisterhood of the All-seeing Eye"

6/24- 6/26/2009

I.

A few minutes before nine, Jeremy Bane walked into the lobby of the four-story building which housed his office. To his right was the door of EMERGENCY ONE, a walk-in clinic which handled minor medical problems. Today, a mother was escorting a little boy with a nosebleed through its door. The Dire Wolf glanced at the clinic as he went by. It was another reason he had chosen this building when looking to establish his practice. So far he had gone there twice with injuries received during a case and it was good to know it was right across the lobby if he or a client needed it. The other tenants in that building included a photography studio, a health spa that took up the whole top floor, two doctor's offices and a travel agency that was ready to relocate elsehere.

On the ground floor, at the end of a short hallway created by the staircase, was his Dire Wolf agency, whose staff consisted of one person, himself. Bane collected the mail from the bank of boxes for tenants by the front door and skimmed through it. Nothing interesting. As he approached his office door, he sensed someone looking at him and he turned as the round body of Lt Joseph Montez of Homicide East thundered into the lobby.

Bane perked up immediately. He turned to face the police officer who had come to appreciate how useful the Dire Wolf agency could be. He did not smile outwardly but he was nevertheless pleased and excited to see Joe Montez. It meant action. "Good morning, Lt."

"Hiya, Bane, listen, we got to talk." Montez was holding a huge Dunkin Donuts coffee and a napkin which had been wrapped around a donut a minute earlier. His weight varied, but he seemed to be getting it down at the moment.

The Dire Wolf said nothing, unlocking his office door and stepping aside to let the lieutenant pass. They went through the tiny waiting room, which had seldom been used, and Bane unlocked the door to the office itself. He thumbed a switch that turned on the overhead dome light and the standing lamp behind his desk. As Montez arranged a straightback wooden chair in front of that desk, Bane circled around and dropped into his swivel chair.

"Say, Bane, something's been bothering me about your operation here," Montez said. He drained the last drop of coffee and seemed surprised there wasn't any more in there. "I checked. You are licensed by the State and City of New York as a PI. Everything is in order. Yet every private investigator I ever knew was desperate for money. They wouldn't even listen to a client unless a fee was in the air."

"And?"

"As far as I can tell, you don't charge. When you do, it's a minimum amount from one thousand flat down to a single dollar. And you say that's so you can claim the person as your client and plead confidentiality. So, what's the deal?"

Bane glanced at the bundle of mail in his hand and tossed it on a tray to one side. "Well, lieutenant, you know about Kenneth Dred. When Mr Dred died, I found that he had left everything to me. I was his sole heir and even now, I still have enough in the bank to be comfortable. I can afford to take cases without charging." He was understating the situation; even after all he had spent establishing the KDF, Bane was enormously wealthy. He could easily have bought outright the building in which his office was located.

"Which leads to something screwy," Montez went on. As he lost weight, he approached being quite handsome, with thick black hair and regular features. "You don't need to do any of this. Someone like me tells you about a maniac or a monster loose and you charge out after it just on your own. What do you get out of it?"

"We've talked about this before. This is what I do, I'm not meant to sit around and watch TV or hang out in bars. I was born looking for trouble." He raised a hand before Montez could go on. "So, what brings you here today?"

Montez sat up. "First, I have to mention what we both know perfectly well. This is off the record. Officially, I never came here today and talked to you. The New York Police Department is definitely not giving you classified information that you are not cleared for."

"Got it. What's the deal?"

"Okay. Now that that's out of the way, there have been some really weird crimes in the past month. Weird and creepy. Three times, some rich guy woke up to find people pinning him down in his bed. Each time, something was pressed down over his face and - hold onto your hat- one of his eyes was sucked out of his head."

"Well, that's new. I haven't heard of that before." Bane's pale grey eyes were never warm, but now they gleamed more coldly than usual. It meant he was excited.

Montez went on, "The victims can't give a good description of the assailants, cause they were bundled up and masked. After they were attacked, naturally they went for medical aid. Doctors couldn't figure out how it was done. Blood vessels and nerves and whatever were sealed off as if cauterized. No explanation."

Bane had suddenly become alert and excited. He had a predatory look. "What else?"

"Look, none of this has been in the papers. Or the local stations. We'd like to keep it that way if we can."

"Got it. Any common factor between the victims? Did they know each other?"

"Not as far as I can see. But they started acting funny after the attacks. These were stingy greedy old misers, you know? They get tax breaks they really aren't entitled to, they hold every penny in a deathgrip. And yet, soon after the attacks, each of them started donating money to something called 'the Portal of Ultimate Peace.' I checked it out, it's a New Age nutbag group of rich society dames doing meditation or something. And the guys with one eye are writing them big checks for no apparent reason. They are donating to other groups, too, but mostly this one."

Bane stood up. He couldn't help it, the same enhanced metabolism that gave him his lightning reflexes also made him restless.
He started pacing and Montez was forced to twist around in his chair to watch him. "This is new," he repeated. "Very interesting. "

"One more strange thing," the lieutenant said. "The three guys... they seem to have their eyes growing back."

Bane froze in mid-step. "Oh, now I have to investigate. How is that happening?"

"Beats me. The FBI sent two agents from 21 Black to tell everyone to keep their mouths shut."

"I've dealt with 21 Black before," Bane muttered. "All they do is hush things up without solving anything. How fast are the eyes regenerating, lieutenant?"

"Not so fast. Doctors say it'll be a year or so before the new growth looks like an eye and even then, it may not work right. But it's certainly right up your alley." He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and drew out a sheet of typing paper. "Ah, seems like somebody wrote down names and addresses here. Convenient. I think this piece of paper oughta be destroyed, though."

Bane reached over and took the sheet. "It will be burned to nothing, lieutenant. No trail."

"You wouldn't have any coffee in this place, would you?"

"Eh? No. I don't drink it," Bane said. "But you have a point, I should keep coffee here for visitors."

Montez lurched up to his feet. "I need to get going. Looks like I'm going to be a few minutes late for the office, I musta overslept. You know how it is."

Bane walked over to see him out. "I will let you know how things work out. Unofficially, of course."

"Yep. Seeya."

After Montez left, Bane walked around his office for a few minutes, sat down and got up again. The front door to his office locked automatically and the curtains over the wide window were opaque. The Dire Wolf knelt beside the three-shelf bookcase, clicked a latch and swung the case over on hidden casters. Underneath it was a shallow pit he had chiselled out of the concrete himself, and in it he stored certain equipment. Hauling up a trunk, he set it down in the middle of the floor. Bane stripped down to shorts and socks, drew out a garment that looked like dark wet silk and tugged it on. This was Trom-metal armor, flexible and comfortable but good protection against blades and most firearms. On his forearms were already sheathed two silver daggers, hilts forward. Bane put on the black slacks and turtleneck again, then fastened a holster to the small of his back. From its own case, he drew out an air pistol with a large chamber and extended barrel. He checked its mechanism and slid in a clip of the anesthetic darts he had developed in KDF days. The black sports jacket concealed everything, and its pockets already contained what he usually carried on his person. Bane returned the trunk to the pit, slid the bookcase back in place and locked. When he left this office, he figured he would have to pay a huge fine for that unauthorized damage he had done to the floor.

Before leaving, he took ten minutes to memorize the names and addresses on the paper Montez had given him. He did not have a photographic memory, but long practice made sure he would remember all the details. Bane took the paper to the tiny bathroom, burned it and ran the ashes down the drain. Then it was time to leave.

Out on the street, Bane swung left and walked quickly down four blocks to the Imperial Garage. His dark green Subaru Outback was in its assigned spot, and the green security lights on the rearview mirror were blinking properly. Starting it up, he headed out into traffic and a long day of asking questions of reluctant people.

( the rest of the story )

"Empires In the Earth"

(2/24-2/28/2009)

I.

The wind was vicious. Jeremy Bane stepped out into the darkness in front of the yellow brick building where his office was located, felt the wind chill bite into him and took a deep breath. His body adjusted. Thirty years on a Tagra tea diet and Kumundu training had left him able to adapt to extremes of temperature quickly. There were limits, of course. For the moment he could stand outside in the bitter February weather and hardly notice it, but prolonged exposure would eventually harm him. He was about to turn right and go for lunch at the Five Guys the next block over when the blue-top taxi stopped right in front of him. A young man hopped out, threw the driver some money and slammed the door.

It would take an effort not to recognize Johnny Packard. Still in his twenties, the Brimstone Kid stood not more than five feet seven and weighed less than a wiry one hundred and sixty pounds. He was wearing cowboy boots, black jeans and a heavy coat with a fur collar. As he stood up, Johnny tugged a black Stetson with a red band down over his bright red hair and swung around. The wry crooked grin ran across his pug face. "Hey! Dire Wolf! Glad I caught you."

Bane did not particularly return the warmth. Johnny Packard seemed to bring trouble with him wherever he went. He had never officially joined the new KDF, although he had hung out with the team and helped on a few cases. There had even been a reported romance with Unicorn that fizzled out. But the Kid was too much a free spirit, too reckless and self-willed to ever be a good team player. Bane steped forward and said, "Hi, Johnny. Last I heard, you were out in Montana. Something to do with protecting wild horses."

"Keeping them from being ground into dog food, that's the gospel truth. Ain't why I'm here though. Mind if we wander into your office to do some talkin'?"

"Sure. Let's get out of the wind." Bane turned and walked with the Kid through the double glass doors which slid open automatically to admit them. They went past the EMERGENCY ONE walk-in clinic, down the short hall made by a wall and the side of the staircase going up. Here was a plain wooden door with a brass plaque DIRE WOLF AGENCY. Bane unlocked the door to reveal a tiny waiting room with two chairs and a coffee table littered with old magazines

"Not much of an office," observed Johnny.

"Wise guy." Bane opened the inner door and led the Kid into the real office, gesturing for him to take a seat. Johnny Packard pulled a leatherbound chair closer to the desk and wriggled out of his heavy coat. Underneath was a black work shirt and open vest. Strapped in an X across his chest were two gunbelts and he unbuckled them now to hang them over the back of the chair as Bane watched.

Taking off his Stetson, Johnny Packard brushed that coarse red hair with his fingers. "Now this is a proper office, suh. You solved a lot of murders here?"

"Lots. Which brings us to why you're here, John."

"Sure enough. Let me tell my story, Jeremy. Out by the border to Idaho is a ranch called Three Crosses, named after its brand. It got closed down years ago, maybe fifteen- maybe twenty years ago. Owner had tax problems. Most of the buildings are still standing, they need work but farm buildings always need work. I was thinking of taking it over. This past winter, I been squatting out there. I'm used to no electricity or running water, that's how I growed up."

Thinking of the Kid's strange origin, Bane could see why he would be happy roughing it, but he said nothing.

"Here's where it gets interesting. Maybe two- three weeks ago, I started seeing these weird varmints on the property at night. I'd have a pleasant bonfire going by the front porch and spot these critters skulking around. They're short. Not taller'n me. Mostly nekkid exept for a loincloth like an Apache'd wear. Skin was pale yellow, like a lemon. I'd chase 'em away and they'd come back the next day just a-staring at me from a distance. But I didn't want to shoot one or two because that might lead to a feud."

"True," Bane agreed. "Hair color? Eye color? Features?"

"Hell, they had flat faces like they got smacked with a frying pan. No hair I could see. Big white staring eyes. Gives me the willies right now thinking about them." Johnny exhaled sharply. "Then I rode my Harley to the nearest town for some supplies. Forty miles by the way, there and back. When I got home,I couldn't spot the bunkhouse nor the barn. They wasn't there! There was just big round holes in the ground."

( the rest of the story )