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"My Favorite Genie"
May. 24th, 2022 06:25 pm"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."
( the rest of the story )
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."
( the rest of the story )
