dochermes | Entries tagged with sam simek

"Awaken the Dragon Within"

6/27-6/28/1996

I.

The whisper of a bare foot moving over grass, the intake of hissed breath between teeth, the rubbing of cotton at a fold in clothing... any one of these would have been enough to jolt Bane into heightened awareness. Deming Street had only one street light, and that was fifty feet away, over the stop sign where Lark Street intersected perpendicularly. Otherwise, there was only a sliver of crescent moon and the stars in the summer night sky to provide illumination. Behind a cluster of elm trees, nearly invisible in his all-black outfit, the Dire Wolf pinpointed where someone was approaching.

On the opposite side of the narrow back street was a strip of grass and then forest. Bane watched as a hulking dark form seperated itself from the shadows of the woods and moved out onto the road. They were one block from Selkirk's quiet house. The Dire Wolf stole silently through the gloom on an interception path. He knew from the furtive way the stranger moved that this was no innocent civilian returning home from a neighborhood bar or out for some fresh air on a sleepless night. No, this was a hunter of men on a mission. No cars had gone by on this short back road for over an hour. They were unlikely to be disturbed.

Now, as Bane rushed toward the stalker, that dark figure froze into position. It swung around a second too late. The Dire Wolf lunged forward, spinning on one heel and driving a stiffened leg deep into the pit of the assasssin's stomach. All the air was forced out of the man's lungs with a whoosh, and he fell back to land hard in a seated position in the middle of the road.

"Stay down," Bane said barely above a whisper. He could see now that this was a big muscular black man, bare from the waist up, quite imposing. "I have a few questions."

"You can ask me when we meet again," spat the killer, "In Hell!" As he spoke, he heaved up to his feet and plunged forward with both open hands ready to clutch. He ran directly into a straight jab that snapped his head back and derailed his attack. A split-second later a fierce left cross spun him halfway around to send him crumbling to the cold road surface.

"When you get to Hell, don't wait up for me," Bane replied. From what he could see in the murk, this man looked like a typical Danarakan with the rich dark skin, distinctive hooked nostrils and prominent cheekbones. Chest and abdomen seemed fit enough, but the arms were overdeveloped to the point of being grotesque... thick columns of bone and muscle, ending in oversize hands.

A Mulongi strangler. One of the Night Gorillas.

The dazed man mumbled a few indechipherable words, one of which sounded very much like 'Kamende.' That got Bane's attention. If Arem Kamende was behind recruiting all these murder societies... The Dire Wolf dropped to one knee beside the groggy African. "What about Kamende? Did he send you here?"

Before the strangler could answer, something whizzed over Bane's head closely enough to ruffle his hair. There was a thump of impact behind him, a gasp and then the dull thud of a body falling. But the Dire Wolf had already sprung twelve feet to the side, rolled and come up behind a bush with his Smith & Wesson extended at full arm's length. He had reacted so quickly that he was concealed and ready to fire before the body behind him hit the ground.

"Steady there," warned a calm man's voice with a faint accent. "Mr Bane, isn't it? You should realize you were about to be bludgeoned over the head by the other Mulongi. My arrow saved you that experience."

The newcomer was a tall, lanky man with pale skin and short blondish hair as shown in the moonlight. He was wearing simple dark clothing and had a Y-shaped leather quiver across his back. In his left hand was a classic longbow. With his other hand, the bowman tugged off a silk headband which had been covering his eyes during the shot.

"A Blind Archer?" said Bane. "Hold very still, buddy, I've heard about you guys. My friend Chen Wong-Lai is dead because of your sect."

Deliberately, the Blind Archer unstrung his bow and placed it on the road in front of him. "You can surely see I am no threat to you now. Listen. My name is Josef Jubilec, and I have been looking for you. As far as I know, I am the first to ever leave the Blind Archers and live."

"Yeah? Tell me more." Still keeping his long-barreled .38 aimed squarely at the man's center mass, the Dire Wolf straightened up and stepped back onto the road. "If you defected, the Archers must have sent their best to make sure you never got to tell anyone about it."

"The Grandmaster did indeed some five of their senior bowmen after me. But they could not send their very best, of course." Jubilec jabbed a thumb at his own chest. "Because that would be me."

"Interesting." Bane had moved to where he could snap a quick glance at the two Night Gorillas. The one he had slugged was stirring, getting ready to revive. Twenty feet further back, a second strangler was lying in the road with a shaft sticking up from the center of his chest. "What is it you want with me, anyway?"

Jubilec lowered his hands from where he had been holding them up near his shoulders. "It's going to be difficult enough to survive in the real world with no contacts. No connections. All I have is some cash and a few IDs I took from the Archers who pursued me. But everyone in the Midnight War has heard of you, the heroic Dire Wolf. And of your team of Tel Shai knights, the Kenneth Dred Foundation."

Decades of training in reading body language and vocal inflection was prompting Bane to trust this man to some extent. He did not put his gun away, but he did lower it to point at a spot exactly halfway between them. "You're out of luck then. I disbanded the KDF years ago. I don't have a team of Tel Shai knights to lead anymore."

The faintest smile appeared on the bowman's narrow face. "Isn't it time, then, that you started a new one?"

( the rest of the story )

"The Astronomy Murders"

10/23-10/25/1992

I.

When the front doorbell rang, Bane glanced up in surprise at the wall clock. Six minutes after eight o'clock. He had only taken his seat behind the massive oaken desk in his office a few seconds earlier. Dr Burnley was calling early indeed.

Striding quickly out into the front hall, the Dire Wolf moved with his normal urgency. He was a tall gaunt man in his mid-thirties, dressed as always all in black.. slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket. Beneath heavy black brows were a pair of pale grey eyes that were never at rest. His excess nervous energy kept him always restless even when he needed to be still.

Standing by the front door, he slid open a wooden panel to reveal a monitor screen which was already lighting up. Bane pressed a button which opened the outer street door and said, "Please come right in. I'll be with you in a moment."

The monitor screen showed the interior of waiting room, barely large enough for three people at a time. Dr Peter Burnley of NYU was a heavyset man of average height, well-dressed in a brown business suit. No ID came up for him on the screen, which meant he had no criminal record either with the FBI or the NYPD. Advanced Trom sensors buzzed and hummed, taking readings more detailed than any hospital equipment could.

Everything matched what Bane had been able to find out about Burnley. The age and height and coloring of hair and eyes were right. The face passed the recognition process compared to a picture Bane had scanned in from an old issue of DISCOVER magazine. No sign of a gun or knife, no chemical signature of poisons or explosives.

For the moment, he was prepared to accept that this was the same man who had called him the night before to make an appointment.

Closing the panel back over the monitor, Bane moved over and swung the inner door open to usher his visitor inside. "Good morning. Dr Burnley? I'm Jeremy Bane."

The man held out a hand and Bane shook it agreebly enough. "Oh, I'm glad you're here. I must apologize for calling on you so early in the morning...."

"That's all right." Bane led the astronomer across the hall to his office. This was a long narrow room with minimal furnishings. His oak desk sat against one wall beneath a gorgeous handpainted map of the world as it had been in 1937.

The Dire Wolf touched a chair to indicate Burnley should sit in front of the desk, then walked around to his own seat facing the man.
"You sounded agitated last night. You still seem worked up. What's the problem?"

Looking quickly around the room, Burnley took a few deep calming breaths before beginning. "I happen to have known about you already, Mr Bane. You're listed in the phone book under this Dire Wolf Agency as a Private Investigator but until a year or two ago, you were known better for your work in the Midnight War... you lead a team of Tel Shai knights known as the Kenneth Dred Foundation."

"Really," said Bane. "That's not exactly knowledge the general public has heard about."

"I know a little about the Midnight War. I'm an atheist and very skeptical by nature but I've always had an interest in the occult. Call it a hobby. I've read quite a bit about you, Mr Bane."

"Naturally, I did some basic research myself about you since your call," Bane replied. "You're known as the leading expert on Uranus. Not the most exciting planet, if you ask me. No rings like Saturn, no evil monsters like Mars..."

Burnley laughed politely at that. "Uranus has its points of interest, sir. I believe its real story has yet to be told. In two years, the Tycho probe will circle it and I will have more information to work with."

"Anyway, you seem to be free of any scandals or connection with crime of any sort," Bane said. "So what is it that brings you to me?"

"It's fear! Awful fear like I never knew before." Burnley leaned forward and searched Bane's face with obvious distress. "I'm afraid of being murdered because two of my colleagues have been. Perhaps I should go back a bit."

"Sure," said Bane. "Take your time. Give me all the details."

"Very well. In August, a man named Paul Fouchet died in Montreal. He was known for his correction of suspected perturbations in the orbit of Mercury. He was found in his car after having been missing for two days. The autopsy showed he had been murdered in particularly horrible way. He had been held down while mercury was poured into his ear!"

"That IS nasty."

"Then came the second death," continued Burnley. "On September 12th. A man in Northern California was killed and his body left in the woods near his house. Vincent Andruzzi, quite young but a promising researcher. He had done some fine work on the Martian symposium the year before. His area of knowledge was about possible life forms on Mars millions of years ago. Poor Andruzzi was found lying on his back. Next to him had been left a round Roman-style gladiator shield. Stuck right in his chest was a short spear."

Bane's eyes lit with a feral gleam as his interest sparked. "Oh. I see. Mars, the Roman god of war, right? His symbol was a shield with a spear point at the upper corner. Someone killed two astronomers in symbolic ways. Yeah, I can see why you'd be apprehensive."

"Apprehensive..?!" yelped the man. "Terrified is more like it. The planetary sciences have many researchers and scholars but, not to be modest, only a dozen or so of us are in the top rank. I'm one of them. All my adult life, I have dedicated my energies to increasing knowledge. If top planetary experts are being targeted, then I am very likely on the list."

"I assume you've already gone to the police?" asked Bane.

"And I got nowehere! They were polite but didn't seem interested. From what I overhead outside the room where I was sitting, the police don't think the two deaths are connected. All they wanted to talk about was some sort territory dispute between drug gangs..."

"Sounds like the NYPD," the Dire Wolf said. "Not much imagination. What's your home life like?"

"Oh, I live alone since Nora-- my wife-- died a few years ago. A cleaning service comes in on Wednesdays. Mr Bane, I don't own a gun. I've never been in a real fight. I'm sixty-three and out of shape. If I was attacked by a determined young man, I have to admit I'd be an easy victim."

Bane raised a hand reassuringly. "Coming to me was a good step to take, doctor. Tell me, do you have enemies in the field of astronomy? Is there maybe a jealous rival? A disgraced scientist who wanted revenge against you?"

"Lord, no. We're a community of meek, scholarly bookworms. The firecest we ever get is firing off a strongly worded letter to an editor. There aren't many face to face meetings between us, just reading each others' published papers and maybe a few going to the same lecture once a year."

Despite the situation, Bane could not hide a faint smile at Burnley's dismay. "People are full of surprises. Stamp collectors and glass blowers have commited gruesome murders of each other. Librarians have been killed over chewing gum. You can't point me toward any likely suspect in your field, then?"

"No. The idea never even occured to me."

"Any romantic tangles between these men and their wives or girlfriends? Anyone competing for a job or lose a promotion they wanted?"

"No, no, nothing like that. Mr Bane, these men worked in specialized areas and had nothing in common, really. It would be like a heart surgeon feuding with an architect. I doubt if any of these fellows ever actually met."

The Dire Wolf dropped that line of thought. "It was a month between the deaths, and about a month has passed since the last one."

"Oh, that has been preying on my mind, too." Burnley leaned forward and his voice became pleading. "Will you take me as a client, Mr Bane? I have heard so much about you. I'm comfortably well off, perhaps a fee of ten thousand dollars would be appropriate?"

"Yes. I will undertake to protect you from this unknown killer and to bring him in."

"What a relief. Of course I want to live. In another two years, the NASA probe will reach Jupiter and I will finally have enough information to work on. Here, let me get my checkbook out.

Watching him fumble with the pen, Bane said, "I have your address at a house in Forrest Hills over in Queens. 1219 Fluegel Street. Is that right?"

"Yes, I'll give you my phone number, too. I should make this out to you by name?"

"Or to Dire Wolf Agency, either is fine. But hold off a second." Bane fixed those pale eyes on the man as if searching for falsehood. "Dr Burnley, two detectives I know will go out there to watch the area while I search for the perp. They are both solid, veteran investigators that I've worked with for years. Sam Simek and Artie Rosen."

"But I hoped you would be directly involved?"

"Absolutely," Bane said. "I will be on this case full time. But I want two men to protect you. When I nail the killer, you'll be the first to know. Make out my retainer for one thousand dollars even."

"Really?" asked Burnley, pen raised. "I have to say that seems reasonable."

"It's a formality," Bane told the man. "With you as an official client, I have certain rights when dealing with the police and their questions." He took a wide red leather ledger from the middle drawer of his desk and wrote out a receipt, then tucked Burnley's check away. "There. Hold on to that for your tax records. What's your schedule for the next few days?"

Dr Burnley examined the receipt with interest before folding it into his checkbook. "Ah. Well, I have a meeting with my literary agent at Fifth Avenue. I expect that will take all day, with a long lunch and a few drinks. Most likely, I will be getting home around five or five-thirty."

"Fine. My men will be waiting. You're in good hands, Dr Burnley."

Standing up, the astronomer allowed Bane to escort him to the front door. "You know, I feel like I made the right choice coming to you. You seem so confident."

"You're under my protection now," the Dire Wolf said. "I promise, everything will be all right." But behind the reassuring words, Bane felt an unsettling alarm over his suspicions. He thought he knew who was behind these killings.

( the rest of the story )

"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 )