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"Mock the Devil If You Will"
May. 13th, 2022 10:01 pm"Mock the Devil If You Dare"
3/24-3/30/1994
I.
Without touching the wrought iron handrail, Jeremy Bane trotted to the bottom of the eighty steps to the outside gazebo. In his late thirties, he was in peak condition, lean and muscular at six feet and one hundred and seventy-five pounds. Dressed all in black as usual including his trademark turtleneck and sport jacket, he looked even thinner than he was. Reaching the bottom step, he stepped onto the paved platform that held an elegant marble gazebo with a gorgeous view of the Hudson River one hundred feet further down.
This late in March, all of the snow was gone except in shaded areas. The wooded slopes leading down to the river were green and alive in the afternoon sun. The air was crisp and fresh. All of this was unfortunately lost on Bane, who was such a city boy that he hardly noticed the stunning vista. Beneath heavy black brows, the pale grey eyes were alert and grim. The old man who had been relaxing on a bench within the gazebo gingerly rose to greet him.
"Ah, Mr Bane!" said Wellman Van Etten. "So good of you to come all the way up here." Van Etten was seventy, Bane knew, but slim and well-preserved. In his tailored dark blue suit and red tie, he leaned a bit on an elegant ebony cane with a silver cap. Van Etten's crisp white hair came down in a sharp widow's peak and his deepset green eyes were bright over a hawklike predatory nose. The hand he offered for Bane to shake a warm dry clasp.
"It's time we met anyway," said the Dire Wolf. "I read your book on serial killers almost without stopping. You really seem to be able to get into their heads."
"Thank you again. SINISTER COMPULSION took years to write. Please, have a seat. My legs are bothering me for some reason today." Van Etten lowered himself to the bench which ran around the inside the gazebo and gestured for Bane to sit where they could both watch the Hudson sparkling in the sunlight. "That's better. I'm gratified you found my book worth reading. From what I understand, you have had considerable experience with serial killers yourself."
"I've nabbed a few," the Dire Wolf admitted. He was watching a hawk circling high overhead. "Of course, I'm not much for theory. I don't have a Masters in Criminology the way you do, Mr Van Etten."
A thin hand waved dismissingly. "I'd be happy if you called me Wellman and I could address you as Jeremy. We are colleagues in a way. You have quite the record for someone so young. Samhain, Golgora, Seneca. the Slaughterman... I'd include Seth Petrov in your catches but he doesn't fit the criteria for a genuine serial killer. Wicked though he may be."
Bane regarded the old man thoughtfully. "Right now, I'm interested in the three murders that have taken place since February. This is confidential, but the State District Attorney asked me to investigate... unofficially and off the record. Local newspapers and TV stations are really playing up the killings. The public is getting worked up, which is why the guys in charge called me."
"Yes, yes," Van Etten said. His hands had wrinkles on the back but the fingers were not gnarled as yet. "Of course, I have been following the details. The victims don't seem to have anything in common. A gastric surgeon, a chef at the Culinary Institute and a retarded man who was working cleaning yards. Excuse me, we don't say 'retarded' anymore, do we? Well, whatever the accepted description is. Aside from them all living within the general area, one might think the murders are unrelated."
"I think there IS something linking them, we just haven't spotted it yet. And we need to figure it out before someone else gets it." Bane turned those pale eyes on Van Etten as if memorizing every detail of the man's appearance. "You were an expert on Roland, weren't you? He's worked in the Hyde Park area."
"Oh, Roland. Heavens. That fiend has not been heard from in well over a year," Van Etten sighed. "From what I've gathered, though, Roland did not have the characteristics of a serial killer. Not in a clinical sense. His killings seemed to be coldly determined to help attain a position within organized crime. Many of the men he murdered later turned out to be mob lawyers or smugglers or enforcers, mostly further south in the Newburgh area. I don't see where this has the Roland stamp on it."
"He did claim a huge number of victims, though," Bane insisted. "There were three incidents of mass slaughter with more than a dozen men dead... and these were not harmless civilians but hardened gunmen who were armed and ready for him. I thought a few times of getting on Roland's trail myself."
"You might have had your hands full. With all due respect, young man, I know you are a formidable opponent. But Roland... dear me, he's spoken of as if he were a genuine devil. His weapon of choice seems to be only a sword blade of some sort and yet he has taken on a roomful of gangsters holding semi-automatics. Maybe it's best that he seems to be dead or retired."
Bane repressed a snort. Keeping up polite chat was a strain for his blunt nature at the best of times. "We'd find out. I still want to close the file on Roland one way or another. But you don't think he's behind these recent killings?"
"I find it very doubtful. Shall we meet for dinner tomorrow evening, Jeremy? Say, at eight? I'm expecting a few friends and we can discuss developments further." Van Etten pried himself up from the bench, leaning on his cane and holding the railing of the gazebo with his free hand. "My cook has mentioned veal and he has never disappointed."
"All right. Thanks." The Dire Wolf glanced up at the hundred-year-old mansion atop the hill. He had thought at first it was a resort of some sort. "Thanks. I'll be back. Are you going to have trouble getting up all those steps, sir?"
Van Etten sighed. "Honestly, that's why I'll wait until you're gone before I begin my own ascent. I have to pause and rest a few times on the way up. Old age is a thief, Jeremy. It steals from your body without your even realizing it at first."
Heading for the bottommost step, Bane paused and turned his head back over one shoulder to scrutinize his host. "If not Roland, is there someone else you suspect is our killer?"
"Oh yes. I'm torn between acute interest and genuine fear at the thought, but there is one notorious predator who seems a likely candidate. A more vile brute than even Roland. I believe you've already clashed with him more than once."
A hard edge came into the Dire Wolf's voice. "SAMHAIN...."
( the rest of the story )
3/24-3/30/1994
I.
Without touching the wrought iron handrail, Jeremy Bane trotted to the bottom of the eighty steps to the outside gazebo. In his late thirties, he was in peak condition, lean and muscular at six feet and one hundred and seventy-five pounds. Dressed all in black as usual including his trademark turtleneck and sport jacket, he looked even thinner than he was. Reaching the bottom step, he stepped onto the paved platform that held an elegant marble gazebo with a gorgeous view of the Hudson River one hundred feet further down.
This late in March, all of the snow was gone except in shaded areas. The wooded slopes leading down to the river were green and alive in the afternoon sun. The air was crisp and fresh. All of this was unfortunately lost on Bane, who was such a city boy that he hardly noticed the stunning vista. Beneath heavy black brows, the pale grey eyes were alert and grim. The old man who had been relaxing on a bench within the gazebo gingerly rose to greet him.
"Ah, Mr Bane!" said Wellman Van Etten. "So good of you to come all the way up here." Van Etten was seventy, Bane knew, but slim and well-preserved. In his tailored dark blue suit and red tie, he leaned a bit on an elegant ebony cane with a silver cap. Van Etten's crisp white hair came down in a sharp widow's peak and his deepset green eyes were bright over a hawklike predatory nose. The hand he offered for Bane to shake a warm dry clasp.
"It's time we met anyway," said the Dire Wolf. "I read your book on serial killers almost without stopping. You really seem to be able to get into their heads."
"Thank you again. SINISTER COMPULSION took years to write. Please, have a seat. My legs are bothering me for some reason today." Van Etten lowered himself to the bench which ran around the inside the gazebo and gestured for Bane to sit where they could both watch the Hudson sparkling in the sunlight. "That's better. I'm gratified you found my book worth reading. From what I understand, you have had considerable experience with serial killers yourself."
"I've nabbed a few," the Dire Wolf admitted. He was watching a hawk circling high overhead. "Of course, I'm not much for theory. I don't have a Masters in Criminology the way you do, Mr Van Etten."
A thin hand waved dismissingly. "I'd be happy if you called me Wellman and I could address you as Jeremy. We are colleagues in a way. You have quite the record for someone so young. Samhain, Golgora, Seneca. the Slaughterman... I'd include Seth Petrov in your catches but he doesn't fit the criteria for a genuine serial killer. Wicked though he may be."
Bane regarded the old man thoughtfully. "Right now, I'm interested in the three murders that have taken place since February. This is confidential, but the State District Attorney asked me to investigate... unofficially and off the record. Local newspapers and TV stations are really playing up the killings. The public is getting worked up, which is why the guys in charge called me."
"Yes, yes," Van Etten said. His hands had wrinkles on the back but the fingers were not gnarled as yet. "Of course, I have been following the details. The victims don't seem to have anything in common. A gastric surgeon, a chef at the Culinary Institute and a retarded man who was working cleaning yards. Excuse me, we don't say 'retarded' anymore, do we? Well, whatever the accepted description is. Aside from them all living within the general area, one might think the murders are unrelated."
"I think there IS something linking them, we just haven't spotted it yet. And we need to figure it out before someone else gets it." Bane turned those pale eyes on Van Etten as if memorizing every detail of the man's appearance. "You were an expert on Roland, weren't you? He's worked in the Hyde Park area."
"Oh, Roland. Heavens. That fiend has not been heard from in well over a year," Van Etten sighed. "From what I've gathered, though, Roland did not have the characteristics of a serial killer. Not in a clinical sense. His killings seemed to be coldly determined to help attain a position within organized crime. Many of the men he murdered later turned out to be mob lawyers or smugglers or enforcers, mostly further south in the Newburgh area. I don't see where this has the Roland stamp on it."
"He did claim a huge number of victims, though," Bane insisted. "There were three incidents of mass slaughter with more than a dozen men dead... and these were not harmless civilians but hardened gunmen who were armed and ready for him. I thought a few times of getting on Roland's trail myself."
"You might have had your hands full. With all due respect, young man, I know you are a formidable opponent. But Roland... dear me, he's spoken of as if he were a genuine devil. His weapon of choice seems to be only a sword blade of some sort and yet he has taken on a roomful of gangsters holding semi-automatics. Maybe it's best that he seems to be dead or retired."
Bane repressed a snort. Keeping up polite chat was a strain for his blunt nature at the best of times. "We'd find out. I still want to close the file on Roland one way or another. But you don't think he's behind these recent killings?"
"I find it very doubtful. Shall we meet for dinner tomorrow evening, Jeremy? Say, at eight? I'm expecting a few friends and we can discuss developments further." Van Etten pried himself up from the bench, leaning on his cane and holding the railing of the gazebo with his free hand. "My cook has mentioned veal and he has never disappointed."
"All right. Thanks." The Dire Wolf glanced up at the hundred-year-old mansion atop the hill. He had thought at first it was a resort of some sort. "Thanks. I'll be back. Are you going to have trouble getting up all those steps, sir?"
Van Etten sighed. "Honestly, that's why I'll wait until you're gone before I begin my own ascent. I have to pause and rest a few times on the way up. Old age is a thief, Jeremy. It steals from your body without your even realizing it at first."
Heading for the bottommost step, Bane paused and turned his head back over one shoulder to scrutinize his host. "If not Roland, is there someone else you suspect is our killer?"
"Oh yes. I'm torn between acute interest and genuine fear at the thought, but there is one notorious predator who seems a likely candidate. A more vile brute than even Roland. I believe you've already clashed with him more than once."
A hard edge came into the Dire Wolf's voice. "SAMHAIN...."
( the rest of the story )
