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"Seventeen Twins"
May. 21st, 2022 06:34 pm"Seventeen Twins"
7/5-7/6/2004
I.
A muggy evening in early July, with tempers short everywhere and drivers taking crazy risks. Jeremy Bane crossed 20th Street in lower Manhattan and trotted up wide stone steps to the front door of the police station he knew best. The glass door was unlocked, but he had to be buzzed in from the tiny lobby into the waiting room by a uniformed cop sitting behind a counter. The officer knew Bane as soon as he came into view, and nodded in a not unfriendly manner. Six feet tall and gaunt, dressed all in black as always, the Dire Wolf was easy to recognize. The pale grey eyes under the feral black brows never changed, nor did the wary suspicion in them.
The waiting room had two benches with the usual despondent winos and sullen petty thieves waiting to be processed, as well as two well-dressed middle-aged women likely there to bail someone out. Beyond a flanking pair of plain wooden doors stood a desk elevated on a platform so that people had to look up, a rather obvious psychological trick that nevertheless worked. On one side of the desk was the flag of the State of New York, on the other was the flag of the United States, and on the wall behind was a large portrait of the current Mayor of New York City... all this to impress the gravity of the situation on first offenders.
The Dire Wolf had been here many times under different circumstances. As he approached, the sergeant behind the desk put down a clipboard and grumbled, "You again. I suppose we can expect five or six bodies this time?"
"I do my best," Bane answered. As he spoke, a man in a lightweight tan suit stood up from a straightback wooden chair beside the desk and tucked a large manila folder under one arm. He would have been quite good-looking if he had been able to keep his weight down but it had been a losing battle for some time. He grinned as he saw the Dire Wolf again.
"Hiya, Bane," said Lt Joseph Montez with a Lower East Side accent, stepping forward. "Got a beauty for you this time."
"Evening, lieutenant," Bane replied. "I came as soon as I got your call. What's the situation?"
"Follow me. Through this door. Let me ask, did you ever hear of Milo Nicosia?"
"Nicosia? Sure," said the Dire Wolf. "Career criminal, lots of heists all over Europe. He never quite made the ranks of the very best, but he's done all right over the years."
Montez led the way down a dim corridor lined with rows of doors with frosted glass panels, behind which frequent arguments could be heard. At the end of the hall was a nook with a coffee machine, some Danish on a tray and two chairs, and next to this was a solid wooden door with the number 11 on it. The lieutenant rapped on that door sharply, an officer peered out and then let the two of them in.
It was a good-sized room with white plaster walls, lights in the ceiling that were brighter than they needed to be, and a chipped old wooden table surrounded by some folding chairs. Sitting motionless in two of those chairs were two men who looked alike. Both were tall, skinny, with thinning black hair and a prominent ratlike nose under which a trimmed pencil mustache sat. Both men wore polished black loafers, blue slacks and a bright orange crewneck shirt. They were gazing down at the floor and did not seem to be aware of Montez and Bane entering the room.
"I don't suppose they confessed?" Montez asked the officer.
"Nah. Not a peep. They just sit there."
He snorted angrily. "I wasn't hoping for much. Well, Mr Dire Wolf, whaddaya think?"
Bane had stepped toward the prisoners and started to speak, then stopped. He was staring, bending closer and studying the two men. For a long moment, he was as unmoving as they were. "Good job," he said at last. "I can't tell if it's plastic surgery or Hollywood make-up artists or what, but I can't tell one from the other."
"They look alike, huh?" asked Montez with a grin.
"Exactly alike. Every detail I can spot. Fingerprints?"
"Fingerprints match each other, which is to say they match Nicosia." Montez pulled out a chair and plopped down opposite the two motionless prisoners. "Funny."
"It has to be surgery then," Bane said. "Unless.."
Montez glanced over at him. "Unless it's something from your weird area of the twilight zone, the Midnight War. That's what I was thinking. That's why I called you tonight."
"I see. Yeah. What are the circumstances of their arrest?"
"Okay. See, this guy here? He's Nicosia One. He was nabbed swiping some goodies from Schneider's Jewelry in Time Square. Didn't resist arrest, just came quietly. Wouldn't answer questions, just sat there like he's deaf. And an hour later, THIS joker, Nicosia Two, was busted down on 32nd Street and Lexington, after breaking into a pharmaceutical storeroom. Same story, silent as a clam. When Two was brought here, the officers in charge nearly had cardiac arrest and they brought me in because I am well known as the investigator to go to where weirdness happens." The lieutenant leaned back again. "And that's because I usually drag you into it."
"I'm glad you did," Bane muttered absently. He was scrutinizing the two identical men in fascination. "Not sure what we're dealing with here. Has a doctor examined them?"
"Can't do that without consent," said Montez. "Or if they appear to be in distress, which they're not."
The Dire Wolf reached out to take the wrist of the nearer man, then stared up at the clock on the wall for thirty seconds. "Pulse is fifty-eight per minute. Way slow. Skin is clammy, I'd guess temperature at ninety-one or two. I can see them breathing, deep but slow. Surprising they're not in a coma, but they are sitting upright without trouble."
Getting up again, Montez straightened with a little effort. He had been in good shape not so long ago. "Little disappointed, Bane. I expected you to know immediately just what these boys are."
Bane did not reply right away. After a minute, he started to turn toward the door. "I want to check a few ideas, lieutenant. Keep me informed if anything happens with these two."
"And where are you going to be? If I might ask."
"I'll be looking for the real Milo Nicosia."
( the rest of the story )
7/5-7/6/2004
I.
A muggy evening in early July, with tempers short everywhere and drivers taking crazy risks. Jeremy Bane crossed 20th Street in lower Manhattan and trotted up wide stone steps to the front door of the police station he knew best. The glass door was unlocked, but he had to be buzzed in from the tiny lobby into the waiting room by a uniformed cop sitting behind a counter. The officer knew Bane as soon as he came into view, and nodded in a not unfriendly manner. Six feet tall and gaunt, dressed all in black as always, the Dire Wolf was easy to recognize. The pale grey eyes under the feral black brows never changed, nor did the wary suspicion in them.
The waiting room had two benches with the usual despondent winos and sullen petty thieves waiting to be processed, as well as two well-dressed middle-aged women likely there to bail someone out. Beyond a flanking pair of plain wooden doors stood a desk elevated on a platform so that people had to look up, a rather obvious psychological trick that nevertheless worked. On one side of the desk was the flag of the State of New York, on the other was the flag of the United States, and on the wall behind was a large portrait of the current Mayor of New York City... all this to impress the gravity of the situation on first offenders.
The Dire Wolf had been here many times under different circumstances. As he approached, the sergeant behind the desk put down a clipboard and grumbled, "You again. I suppose we can expect five or six bodies this time?"
"I do my best," Bane answered. As he spoke, a man in a lightweight tan suit stood up from a straightback wooden chair beside the desk and tucked a large manila folder under one arm. He would have been quite good-looking if he had been able to keep his weight down but it had been a losing battle for some time. He grinned as he saw the Dire Wolf again.
"Hiya, Bane," said Lt Joseph Montez with a Lower East Side accent, stepping forward. "Got a beauty for you this time."
"Evening, lieutenant," Bane replied. "I came as soon as I got your call. What's the situation?"
"Follow me. Through this door. Let me ask, did you ever hear of Milo Nicosia?"
"Nicosia? Sure," said the Dire Wolf. "Career criminal, lots of heists all over Europe. He never quite made the ranks of the very best, but he's done all right over the years."
Montez led the way down a dim corridor lined with rows of doors with frosted glass panels, behind which frequent arguments could be heard. At the end of the hall was a nook with a coffee machine, some Danish on a tray and two chairs, and next to this was a solid wooden door with the number 11 on it. The lieutenant rapped on that door sharply, an officer peered out and then let the two of them in.
It was a good-sized room with white plaster walls, lights in the ceiling that were brighter than they needed to be, and a chipped old wooden table surrounded by some folding chairs. Sitting motionless in two of those chairs were two men who looked alike. Both were tall, skinny, with thinning black hair and a prominent ratlike nose under which a trimmed pencil mustache sat. Both men wore polished black loafers, blue slacks and a bright orange crewneck shirt. They were gazing down at the floor and did not seem to be aware of Montez and Bane entering the room.
"I don't suppose they confessed?" Montez asked the officer.
"Nah. Not a peep. They just sit there."
He snorted angrily. "I wasn't hoping for much. Well, Mr Dire Wolf, whaddaya think?"
Bane had stepped toward the prisoners and started to speak, then stopped. He was staring, bending closer and studying the two men. For a long moment, he was as unmoving as they were. "Good job," he said at last. "I can't tell if it's plastic surgery or Hollywood make-up artists or what, but I can't tell one from the other."
"They look alike, huh?" asked Montez with a grin.
"Exactly alike. Every detail I can spot. Fingerprints?"
"Fingerprints match each other, which is to say they match Nicosia." Montez pulled out a chair and plopped down opposite the two motionless prisoners. "Funny."
"It has to be surgery then," Bane said. "Unless.."
Montez glanced over at him. "Unless it's something from your weird area of the twilight zone, the Midnight War. That's what I was thinking. That's why I called you tonight."
"I see. Yeah. What are the circumstances of their arrest?"
"Okay. See, this guy here? He's Nicosia One. He was nabbed swiping some goodies from Schneider's Jewelry in Time Square. Didn't resist arrest, just came quietly. Wouldn't answer questions, just sat there like he's deaf. And an hour later, THIS joker, Nicosia Two, was busted down on 32nd Street and Lexington, after breaking into a pharmaceutical storeroom. Same story, silent as a clam. When Two was brought here, the officers in charge nearly had cardiac arrest and they brought me in because I am well known as the investigator to go to where weirdness happens." The lieutenant leaned back again. "And that's because I usually drag you into it."
"I'm glad you did," Bane muttered absently. He was scrutinizing the two identical men in fascination. "Not sure what we're dealing with here. Has a doctor examined them?"
"Can't do that without consent," said Montez. "Or if they appear to be in distress, which they're not."
The Dire Wolf reached out to take the wrist of the nearer man, then stared up at the clock on the wall for thirty seconds. "Pulse is fifty-eight per minute. Way slow. Skin is clammy, I'd guess temperature at ninety-one or two. I can see them breathing, deep but slow. Surprising they're not in a coma, but they are sitting upright without trouble."
Getting up again, Montez straightened with a little effort. He had been in good shape not so long ago. "Little disappointed, Bane. I expected you to know immediately just what these boys are."
Bane did not reply right away. After a minute, he started to turn toward the door. "I want to check a few ideas, lieutenant. Keep me informed if anything happens with these two."
"And where are you going to be? If I might ask."
"I'll be looking for the real Milo Nicosia."
( the rest of the story )
