dochermes

"Instant Mummies"

2/3-2/4/1999

I.

Freezing rain had been drizzling since dusk and the roads were treacherous. A layer of ice had visibly gathered on the branches of the tree outside Abernethy's house. Frowning, Jeremy Bane turned grimly away from the picture window to the situation that had drawn him here. In his forties, he remained a lean, ominous figure, still dressed all in black, still glaring at the world with cold grey eyes from beneath dark brows. More than ever, he lived up to his war name Dire Wolf.

The room showed money had been spent wisely. The uncluttered, highly polished wood floors and walls, the stone fireplace with a low fire smoldering, the solid sedate furniture, the original oil paintings.. all showed the owner was comfortably off. None of this was any comfort to the man now. In his own house, surrounded by a half dozen big police officers and the famous Dire Wolf, Lawrence T Abernethy was still shaking with terror.

From where he stood by the window, Bane glanced over at the antique grandfather clock by the door and saw it was ten minutes to midnight. He turned and strode over to the plush easy chair where Abernethy sat. The attorney was not a good-looking man at the best of times, with his weak chin and large mole on the side of his nose, but now the fear on his face took away any dignity he might have had. Standing next to Abernethy, exhaling cigar smoke through his nostrils, was Inspector Harold Klein of Homicide West. Over the past nine years, his association with Jeremy Bane had led to his being regarded as a specialist in crimes involving the unexplained, the unnatural and the just plain weird.

Klein looked up quizzically. His hair was more white than grey at this point, a year beyond normal retirement age. He stayed on duty for the moment because his experience made him invaluable. As Bane approached, Klein tried talking to Abernethy again. "Look, there's not much point in denial at this late stage. You know Grier is dead. Yesterday he got a note just like yours and last night he died. Instant mummy. He had the Sphinx mad at him just like you do. Now, we are here to protect you, sir, but your cooperation may make all the difference."

"There's nothing I can tell you," the man repeated stubbornly.

Bane stepped closer. "You know me?"

"The Dire Wolf? Oh, certainly. What criminal lawyer in the metropolitan area hasn't heard of you?"

"Good. Let me remind me you of a few men I have personally captured or killed. Samhain. Seneca. Dr Sabbath. Wu Lung. John Grim. Get the picture?"

"I know your reputation, Mr Bane."

"Good," the Dire Wolf repeated. "Your client, the Sphinx, is right up there with the monsters and maniacs I've been fighting. He's using the name Nefu-Sobek but it's certainly fake. He claims to be an Egyptian businessman from Cairo but no one there has ever heard of him. What is clear is that Nefu-Sobek was a disciple of Menekartes. Now THERE was a sorceror of the first rank. His disciples scattered after his death and Nefu-Sobek gathered a few of them to start a cult of his own. Twenty murders, a dozen high-scale robberies, sale of forbidden Velkandu drugs to highest bidder, all in the past few years. The Sphinx has been busy."

Klein tossed his cigar butt into the fireplace. "Last night, his lieutenant was killed at midnight. In a locked room with a dozen witnessses. Timothy Grier suddenly shriveled up and turned into an instant mummy. They found a note in his pocket, threatening him with death that very night." He glanced over at Bane. "Mr Abernethy here was at that party. He saw it happen. And today he found an identical note addressed to him under his front door."

Suddenly Abernethy's self-control gave way. "Oh, what's the use? You can't know what you're dealing with. Nefu-Sobek isn't human, he's a devil from Hell and nothing we do can stop him."

Klein growled, "That's enough of that talk. I've got five good hand-picked men watching this house. Your food and your water have been brought in by officers. You haven't left this house since you came in last night."

Bane asked, "Has anyone else been in the house, even for a second?"


"No," Abernethy answered sullenly. "My wife left me three years ago. I've lived alone since then."

"And my boys have searched the house, Bane. No poisoned needles in a sofa pillow, no chemicals in the heating duct to send up fumes. They're thorough as army ants. No traps." Abern

"Sounds safe enough," Bane said slowly. "And yet.. Grier seemed to be safe too."

Abernethy stood up suddenly. "All this activity will scare him off. He won't dare to try anything in a house full of armed policemen, would he?"

"These masterminds have egos bigger than a dozen normal men," Bane said. "His pride will make him give it a try and when he shows up, he's mine!" The Dire Wolf stopped suddenly, staring at the lawyer. "You turned awful white all of a sudden. Do you feel okay?"

"No. I feel- I feel awful," Abernethy gasped just as he gave a strangled gargling noise and dropped back into his chair. In a few seconds, before Klein or Bane could react, the man's body shuddered and withered to half its size. A huge puddle of cloudy fluid gushed out onto the floor as the water in his tissues gushed out and he dried up into a leathery, wrinkled husk. His sunken eyes rolled up to show only the whites.

"Instant mummies," whispered Harold Klein. "My God."

Bane whirled to glare around the room, startling the horrified policemen. "A locked room, guarded by your own men. Food and water brought in. Windows sealed, house searched. And STILL the Sphinx got him. How the hell did he do it?!"

Three hours later, the forensic squad was cleaning up without having gotten anywhere. The body had been taken out on a stretcher for a full autopsy, dozens of samples had been taken and the house was being sealed off. As the yellow tape was going up, Jeremy Bane shrugged into his long black topcoat and frowned at the world.

"Think it was poison?" Klein asked. He was as usual wearing a raincoat that had not been white for years.

"Yes," the Dire Wolf answered. "The Sphinx has never shown any energy powers. He's not the warlock that Menekartes was. But he has used Velkandu potions a number of times, including truth serums and zombie-makers. I need to check my files on this guy."

Going over to stand by the front door, Inspector Klein peered out at the night. "I'll talk to you in the morning. You might want to drive under eighty this time, it looks slick out there."

Bane snorted. "Too bad murders don't all take place in May, huh? All right. See you later, Inspector."

On the drive back down to Manhattan, Bane in fact did take it more carefully than usual. The streets were icy but they were also deserted and he could go slow. The small dark green Mustang had new tires and he was used to how it handled. Soon he turned onto Lexington Avenue without incident. At 38th Street, the Wolf pulled into the dead end alley where a brick-covered steel panel rose automatically at a signal from his dashboard. With a feeling of genuine relief, he drove down a short concerete ramp and and parked his car in the small underground garage next to the Buick Regal. Bane got out, suddenly feeling tired, which was rare for him.

Walking past the vault and arsenal, up steep concrete steps to emerge from the back of a walk-in closet in the front hall, Bane shrugged out of his heavy coat and hung it on a hook by the front door. Cindy wasn't back yet. He went in the kitchen, finished off a huge bowl of leftover macaroni salad with chicken slices, drank a glass of apple juice and then a tumbler of ice water. Feeling a bit more alive, Bane trudged up the stairs to the third floor where his room was, stripped down and took a hot shower. It was four-fifteen. He set the alarm for eight-thirty, crawled between the sheets and was asleep so fast he didn't realize it.

( the rest of the story )

"An Evening At the Museum"

9/15/1993


At a few minutes past seven on a beautiful September evening, Jeremy Bane stepped out of his maroon Mustang and gazed across the street at the Weishaupt Museum of Oriental Antiquities. As a native New Yorker, he was used to impressive buildings but this one was worth checking out. He had looked up its history that afternoon. The Museum had been built in 1909 and covered the entire block. It was very ornate, white stone blocks decorated with all sorts of columns and arches and rows of statues. He had read that some of those statues had been chiseled by Daniel Chester French, who had done the Lincoln Memorial statue. None of the statistics had meant much to him, but he was surprised that the Museum held all Egyptian and Middle Eastern pieces with nothing from Asia. This was from the days when "Oriental" meant anything east of Europe.

The Dire Wolf examined his dinner jacket and tie. It had been years since he had last worn them, or the polished leather shoes. It didn't feel unpleasant. When he had disbanded his team of Tel Shai knights, he had spent some months with Cindy at art galleries, casinos and concerts and cultural affairs; Cindy had thought it was worth a try since they were wealthy and idle. But neither of them had enjoyed it. They were born for trouble. Still, getting dressed up once in a while was a nice change of pace.

He trotted across the street, up wide steps between two statues of lions with human faces, and was met at the double oak doors by a man in an old-fashioned butler's outfit. "Yes, sir?"

The Dire wolf showed his invitation. "Jeremy Bane. Don't trouble to announce me, I want to mingle."

"Very good, sir. The bar is to your right."

"Thanks." Bane entered a vast chamber encircled by a marble staircase. Maybe a hundred men in tuxedos and women in gowns were standing around with drinks in their hands. A few were smoking cigarettes, which surprised him, but maybe the Museum was not officially open at this moment. He automatically gathered impressions, searching for known faces or signs of hidden weapons or suspicious intentions. Most looked harmless enough. One crusty old gent with a white mustache regarded him almost with resentment and Bane gave him a pleasant smile. He was used to that reaction. He carried an air of danger with him that was hard to conceal.

Going over to the open bar, the Dire Wolf took a glass of seltzer. He never drank alcohol. Turning around, he was a bit startled to find two strange-looking men at his elbow. He would have sworn they had not been there a second earlier. Both were short, maybe five feet six. One had curly black hair and an amiable if simple-minded face. He was wearing a blue suit that was a little too tight, with a brown tie that didn't match. His partner looked similar enough to be his brother except for a mop of crimson hair that had not seen a barber for some time. He had an outfit so bizarre that it took a second to sort out. Worn-out brogans, baggy flannel trousers, a black shirt with green polka dots and a tan jacket that had one sleeve hanging half off. He was holding a delapidated top hat in one hand.

"Hi," Bane said. "Do I know you two?"

"We been strangers a long time," said the dark-haired one. "Lissen lissen, call me Pietro, I'm your boy. This is my pal, Ginger, he don't talk much."

"My name is Jeremy. What's up, boys?"

Pietro leaned in to whisper. "Mister, you look like a fellow who can put up his dukes. You know, Who can take care of hisself. I'm worried about Mrs Weishaupt." He had a slight accent that made him say, 'I'm a-worried.'

"Tell me more," Bane replied. He glanced behind him, just in case this conversation was a ploy to get him offguard.

"You know her husband left her millions of dollars, maybe more. Maybe thousands. Someone is after it. Someone who figgers maybe she needs a new husand, eh? Ya know what I mean? Me and Ginger been keeping an eye on her but-"

At this point, the butler stepped forward with a stern look. "Who let you two in here? Let me see your invitations."

"I carry it in my shoe," Pietro answered breezily. He swept one of the butler's feet out from under him and, as the man swayed unsteadily, Ginger caught him and helped him up. "Come on paisan, we ain't wanted here." The two started moving quickly toward the door. Bane said to the butler, "Better check your wallet."

The man reached inside his jacket and went red with anger. "Hey!" he bellowed. "Hey, you two!" and took off in pursuit.

The Dire Wolf took a sip of the seltzer and frowned. That was an odd moment. He looked over the crowd, which did not seem to have noticed anything. He started to wander around the vast room. The decorations were mostly Egyptian, some from Syria and Lebanon from what little he knew. But here and there he spotted a few older items. He went closer to a stone panel set in a niche and studied the figure of a robed man with an axe in one hand and a whip in the other, with a face that looked round and alien.

"That is older than Egypt, you think?" said a voice behind him.

Bane had felt an ominous presence about four feet away, an imposing physical presence but no immediate threat. Training and experience left him usually aware of everything within reach. Without turning around, he answered, "It's from Khebir. This is Akil, the First King of Khebir." Then he swung evenly around to meet the speaker. He was facing a man a little shorter than his own six feet height, but much wider and more solid, with oversized hands.

The man had dark coppery skin, a grim square face under short-cropped hair, a flattened nose and dark eyes that glowered angrily. He was wearing a very neat tailored suit in shades of brown. "Dire Wolf! Has it taken us this long to meet?"

"The Sphinx. Don't tell me you're the joker trying to romance Mrs Weishaupt."

"What?" he said in obvious confusion. "Have you been drinking? No, Mr Bane, let me say we need not clash tonight. I have committed no crimes in your country. Your police do not even know of me. I am here to see the Khebir relics on display."

"I bet. Okay, Sphinx. Let's be straightforward. I have no quarrel with you right now. When Menekartes died, several of his lieutenants divided up his empire. I've followed your activities since then, but as you know, I'm semi-retired. As long as you stayed out of my town, I'd leave you alone."

"You are as arrogant as I had heard," the Sphinx growled. "Still, I do not wish this to escalate into a vulgar quarrel. This is a peaceful night at the museum. We should pass each other as two lions pass in the desert and do not fight for no gain."

"Fair enough. You know, I don't think this is Akil, after all."

The Sphinx glowered up at the stone icon on the wall and considered. "It is supposed to be Akil, but it is much later than his period. This artist was working from other copies. It is not uninteresting, I suppose." He turned and strode stiffly away.

Bane watched him coldly. Since the end of his team of Tel Shai knights, he had indeed been just passing time as a private detective but seeing the Sphinx made him miss the old days of crusading. This man was a career criminal. Bilal Hajjir had taken the ancient Khebir name Nefu-Sobek. His operations centered mostly around theft and extortion, but he was not above kidnapping and the sex traffic. He also had a bad habit of killing underlings when they failed, which made recruitment difficult. Just then, Bane had been hoping the Sphinx would crowd him and offer an excuse to beat the hell out of him on general principles but no such luck. Sipping the seltzer, the Wolf went back to strolling the room.

II.

Ten minutes later, Bane had spotted several more items older than Egypt, items going back to the Darthan Age that archaeologists did not know about. He thought he saw a scarb of blue ceramic that was very interesting and which he wanted a better look at himself. His glass was empty and he was heading back toward the bar when he was intercepted by a tall dowager in a splendid white gown with long gloves.

"Mrs Weishaupt, I believe?" He took her in. Caroline Weishaupt would be about fifty, stout but not obese, and rather pleasant with a cheerful face under a pile of light brown curls. He had forgotten how many millions she was worth but he imagined most of the people in that room had it in mind.

"Yes, dear boy," she chirped. She was checking him out, he realized uneasily. Bane was not handsome in a movie star way, but he was slim and fit, with a feral face and pale grey eyes. Women were usually either attracted to him or uneasy, and his blunt manners didn't help. Mrs Weishaupt seemed to have concluded she liked his looks. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure?"

He offered a hand, which she didn't shake but held onto affectionately,and introduced himself. "Jeremy Bane. I run the Kenneth Dred Foundation, we do psychic research. I asked to come here tonight because you have some relics here of great mystic power."

"Oh, REALLY?" she sang. "I rather thought so. I'm gifted myself you know, I have many prophetic dreams. Why, my late husband Oswald once said-"

But Mrs Weishaupt did not get to finish because a third shady character butted in. Bane registered details automatically. This joker was the same size as Pietro and Ginger had been, but he wore round glasses and had a black mustache. He was wearing a dinner jacket and white tie, but nothing fit properly. Almost instantly, Bane saw that the mustache was fake and he wondered why no one else noticed.

"And who is this weasel?" the newcomer batted out. "He looks like trouble if you ask me. Say, Caroline, this shindig is more boring than my laundry list. What say we step outside and smooch under the moon while the gods look down and laugh?"

"Oh, Mr Polkinghorn," she tittered. Releasing Bane's hand, she said, "This is Mr Cornelius Polkinghorn, my legal advisor and very DEAR friend. Why, I rely on his judgment implictly. I shall be along shortly, Mr Polkinghorn, I was just telling this young man about my prophetic dreams."

"Story of my life," he confided to Bane. "I want honey and she delivers the sting. Weren't you just leaving?"

"No," Bane said flatly. "Mrs Weishaupt, you have some talismans here with genuine supernatural history. I'd like to point them out, you might want to keep one or two locked up. There could be some danger-"

Polkinghorn stepped between them and leered up at Bane. "You can't pull that old gag. Why, that's older than running out of gas, not that I don't run out of gas at my age. I'm sure we'll meet again, sonny. You're something antibiotics can't get rid off."

The Dire Wolf was not angered for some reason. Despite his lack of a sense of humor, he found the man's attitude amusing for some reason. Smiling at Mrs Weishaupt, he said, "We can talk later, if you like," and drifted away. Glancing back, he saw the Sphinx approaching Mrs Weishaupt and Cornelius Polkinghorn and figured he was better off not hearing that conversation. This was a strange evening so far and he was not sure he had a handle on what was going on. As he headed toward the bar, to his left were curved marble stairs leading up to the second floor. They were blocked off by a velvet rope on brass stands. Ducking under that rope were Pietro and Ginger. Bane stood in their way as they straightened up with guilty expressions.

"Now, you boys know you were not supposed to be up there."

"Have you seen the line to the men's room? And I didn't have no magazine with me," Pietro said. "Is Mrs Weishaupt still okay?"

"She's got her hands full, in my opinion. Say, Pinky, what have you got under that coat?" He reached toward an obvious bundle about the size of a liter-bottle stuffed inside that jacket. Ginger put a hand on his forearm and shook his head frantically, eyes bugging out as Bane pulled a bottle of champagne into view.

"Honestly," he said. "There's a free bar over there. Don't steal from your hostess-" He broke off as he realized something was wrong. Pinky was holding something down by his side he didn't want anyone to see. The Dire Wolf snapped his hand out with ferocious speed and yanked it away. It was one of the silver daggers he wore on sheaths under his sleeves. In a lifetime of unlikely events, this took his breath away. He stepped back quickly from the two of them. Pietro was going to say something, but the icy glare in Bane's pale eyes stopped him as if a rattlesnake had just reared up in front of his feet.

Bane knew the heft of that dagger, the balance. He had spent thousands of hours practicing throws with those blades. They had been a present from Kenneth Dred and he would have given up everything in the world before he let anyone take them. "How did you..? Never mind. I'm not going to threaten you. Don't do it again."

As he spoke, he had kept both of them in front of him. Now he took two steps back and headed to the bar. As he looked back, he saw Pietro sag to the floor with a stunned expression while Pinky tried to hold him up. Bane replaced the dagger, checked that the other one was in place and quietly stepped behind a clustered of chatting old men to make sure he had everything else. Nothing was missing, but this incident shook him up. What was he dealing with here? He had to find out. Putting down his glass, he started toward Pietro and Ginger but they took off at a full scramble toward the door for the second time that night. Evidently the look in his eyes frightened them.

Seeing the Sphinx beckon to him with a wry smile, Bane went over. The warlock held a goblet of champagne and pinched a tiny half sandwich in a huge hand. "I see you have met my minions, Dire Wolf."

"As minions go, they're out of the ordinary. The redheaded one has sticky fingers."

"He is an Erulan. Not the mere Human he seems. People have legends of leprechauns and pixies and other beings of mischief. I suspect many of these tales come from encounters with the Erulim. As for Pietro, he is bonded to the creature. He holds the Erulan into this world." The Sphinx sniffed. "I have found them useful."

"I can see they are great thieves," Bane said. "You seem unhappy, Nefu-Sobek. That joker with the mustache, is he one of yours?"

"Him? The Trickster? I should say not. He is merely in my way. These are my words. You have no reason to trust me of course, but I mean no one here any harm. I believe my servants have already retrieved the talismans which should rightfully be mine, but I must speak with that foolish Weishaupt woman before I leave. Get the Trickster away from her."

"You mean Polkinghorn?"

"He has many names but only one nature. Dire Wolf, do this and I will not return to this country."

"I don't know what your promise is worth, but I want to talk to Mrs Weishaupt myself. Let me see what I can do." Bane stepped away and thought about the situation. Of course, he didn't believe anything the Sphinx said but he seemed to remember reading something about the Erulim. He didn't know about any Trickster. Glancing over, he saw Mrs Weishaupt listening happily to Polkinghorn, who was apparently promising her the world. He snorted. His instinct was to bash the guy over the head and throw him out into the street but that was not in the cards. Thinking things over, he strolled toward the buffet table and met Pietro and Ginger again. They flinched back, apparently afraid of him after the way he had glared at them.

"Good, I want to talk to you bozos. Come over here. No, YOU stay just out of reach. Pietro, what have you guys stolen so far?"

"Aw, boss, we no do anything wrong-" he stopped at a glare from those gray eyes. "Okay dokay, just maybe some jewelry fall into our pockets and we not notice."

"No weapons? No amulets?"

"Hey, I read HAMULET, by Shakespeare. Atsa good one eh? We got one amulet. It look like a bug."

"A beetle, maybe? Made of blue ceramic?"

"Atsa one. You like it, eh Ginger? Add it to the bugs already in your coat."

The redheaded imp grinned inanely. The more Bane saw of him, the more he noticed how the proportions of trunk to limbs was wrong, how the eyes bugged out a little too much to be quite Human. He started to move nearer but Bane stepped him with a look. "Close enough. I don't want to have to skin you to get everything back."

Bane lowered his voice. "Now, my guess is that you fellows are not serving the Sphinx willingly. He has some binding over you, probably a spell. Am I right?"

Ginger lowered his head sadly and wiped away an imaginary tear. Pietro said, "You got that right. We want to be on our way, but he no let us go."

The Dire Wolf smiled thinly. "I'll tell you what. If I keep him away from you for a few hours, can you escape?"

A comically sinister grin settled on Pietro's rather dim face. "You bet. But as long as he is awake, he can follow us. He keep us in chains, eh Ginger?"

"All right. Here's my deal. Give me the blue beetle. It's too dangerous to be out in public in the first place. Now, let's talk to the Sphinx." He pocketed the ancient talisman, feeling its warmth and vague throb of power as he placed it in the inside pocket of his jacket. "Now let's talk to the Sphinx." Accompanied by the two strange men, and still making sure Ginger did not get close enough to steal his socks or something, Bane led the way to where the three other players stood under a pillar carved with papyrus flowers.

"What a FASCINATING life you have had, Mr Hajjir. You must tell us more about the tombs of Egypt," Mrs Weishaupt gushed. Beside her, a disgruntled Cornelius Polkingorn muttered, "Especially the one he crawled out of."

"You may have heard of curses placed on tombs..." the Sphinx began but his voice trailed off as he saw Bane approach with the two thieves. Pietro and Ginger rushed up on the sphinx, getting behind him as if for protection, pressing close. "What is this foolishness? Move off me!"

Bane said, "Sorry about this, Mrs Weishaupt." He pulled out his billfold with his PI license and special NYPD consultant and flashed it at her. "This thug has brought his henchmen here to rob the museum. I'm taking him in."

The Sphinx erupted in a roar. "How dare you? Who do you think you are?" His hand came up quickly with a .357 Magnum within inches of Bane's face. The hammer clicked harmlessly twice. As the Sphinx looked down, Ginger grinned and held up five bullets in his hands. That was the opening. Bane stepped in and his open left hand cracked down like an axe where his enemy's neck met his shoulder. The Sphinx sagged with a grunt and the Dire wolf blasted a backfist with the same hand that slammed the man's head back against the wall behind him. The noise made everyone wince.

As the warlock fell, Bane caught him by the shirtfront and held him up. "Thanks, Ginger. I think you buys should run for it."

Before one hundred gaping millionaire and society queens, Pietro and Ginger scampered across the room. They paused just long enough to snatch handfuls of food from the buffet table and were out into the night. Bane lowered the Sphinx over one shoulder and took a pulse. Strong and steady. Hauling the limp heavy form, he nodded to Mrs Weishaupt and headed for the door himself. Behind him, he heard Cornelius Polkinghorn tell the stupefied Mrs Weishaupt, "I told you he was trouble."

5/17/2013