"Running On the Razor's Edge" I
"Running On the Razor's Edge"
10/23-10/25/1982
I.
"What on Earth is that unholy racket?" demanded the Gentle One.
Sitting five feet away from the desk, Rook had been admiring how the Gentle One managed to keep himself shrouded and unseen without leaving the room entirely dark. A dim purple bulb in the center of his desk barely revealed his gloved hands when he placed them near it. Those hands were broad, powerful, with stubby fingers and the white cloth gloves appeared purple because of the light. The Gentle One had developed a manner of emphasizing his statements quite eloquently with gestures from those gloved hands.
Beyond arm's reach of the desk, a highbacked wooden chain was fixed to the floor. Set on its back behind the occupant's head was an identical purple bulb that cast the vaguest light over the person in the chair. Rook was not fond of this arrangement. One of the most gorgeous women freelancing in international crime, her looks were both a major tool and a weapon she had learned to use well. But, after dealing with the Gentle One, she realized he was not susceptible to female pulchritude.
She had heard the crashing and roaring of angry voices from next door at the same time her new employer had, and she was on her feet instantly. Rook was half French and half Japanese, a tall slim beauty with straight glossy black hair that reached to the small of her back. While in her early teens, she had earned several million dollars posing for magazine ads but there had always been a strong streak of larceny and a craving for adrenalin in her soul that guaranteed she would not live within the law for long. Rook smiled with her perfectly curved lips and said huskily, "I have the strangest feeling we both know who has intruded on your hideaway."
"The Haunt must die," whispered the mastermind in the shadows. "I have grown so weary of his theatrics. Confound the man!"
Smoothing down the silk of her tight wine-colored dress, Rook said, "I'll see what I can do. Calculate a suitable bonus for me." She snatched up a small leather handbag with a fine-linked gold chain from where it had been laid at her feet. Another of the tiny purple bulbs had lit up at the top of a door, illuminating a few inches just enough that she could find the handle without fumbling. Careful not to look back, as per her standing orders, Rook stepped into a large unfurnished room that in contrast was brightly lit by a naked 75-watt bulb in the ceiling. In that room, caught in a wild brawl, one man was holding his own against four bruisers.
Rook smiled indulgently. Of course it was the Haunt again. Who else? The four thugs working for the Gentle One were all big, muscular guys with lots of experience beating up people. Yet they had their hands full with just one man who shrugged off their punches and kicks while landing punishing blows in return. At the moment, one of the goons had his arms wrapped around the Haunt's legs and was trying to immobilize him while the other three took swings. It didn't seem to faze the loner.
The Haunt was a vivid figure in a royal blue suit with matching fedora and wrist-length gloves. He wore a spotless white shirt and bright red necktie, but the flamoyant wardrobe was marred by the fact that one sleeve of the suitjacket had been ripped loose at the shoulder seam and that his shirt had come loose from the waistband during the struggle. His cloth domino mask was the same royal blue, fitting as snugly as if it had been grafted on.
One simple uppercut from a gloved fist lifted one of the thugs clear of the floor. The Haunt did not seem to have any martial arts training, just simple roughhouse boxing, but it obviously worked for him. In another second, he had kicked loose of the man holding his legs and jumped away from the hired fighters. On the other side of the bare room was a large uncurtained window that showed only the moonless night sky. The Haunt swung around with his back to the view and grinned insolently. He was a remarkably good-looking young man, evidently only in his mid-twenties, with crisp black hair and a strong jawline a movie star would envy. That face was bruised a bit by the brawl but swelling had only just started to show.
"Gah-DAM," yelled one of the thugs. "What is that guy made of, anyway?"
"Come on, we'll get 'im from four sides at once. No matter how tough he is, he'll be crying for his mommy before we're done with him," said another.
"If you gentlemen would step aside...?" drawled Rook. Startled at finding her having come up right behind them while they were distracted, the four men hurried to get out of her way.
"Rook? Again? Hey, I love your hair that way," the Haunt called over.
"You big moose," she answered, "You will never ever learn." She straightened her arm, her slender hand filled with the little Beretta Bobcat she had plucked from her handbag. This was a tiny, easily concealed weapon and she compensated for its modest stopping power by using 22 Hollow Points and with severe accuracy. Five shots detonated in close succession, and three bright red splashes of blood geysered out from the front of the Haunt's white shirt. He was already tumbling back when the fourth bullet hit him low in the stomach and the fifth missed completely, then he crashed backward through the window behind him to disappear into darkness.
"He's gonna land in the Heewasauga," laughed one of the thugs. "There, hear the splash?"
Rook did not comment and there was no triumph in her dark eyes. With a loud sigh, she turned to glare at the four hired strongmen. "You clowns, didn't you see what he had in his hand?"
In a timid way that was comical coming from a huge brute with a flattened nose and scarred knuckles, one of them said, "No, Miss Rook."
"Just Rook. Not Miss Rook. Somehow that joker got a hold of what you were supposedly guarding. He had the Blue Rose Cameo when he went out the window!"
II.
One o'clock in the morning. On the third floor of the Halliwick Hotel, Jeremy Bane stood holding the curtain aside to gaze down at Pruitt. He had never been in Georgia before and, although he knew cities like Atlanta were as big and modern as anything in the Northeast, he had still been surprised as how up-to-date and energetic a city like Pruitt was. The town had a reputation for lots of crime and accusations of corruption in the police department, but that could be found anywhere.
At twenty-five, the Dire Wolf was at a physical peak. He stood just over six feet tall and weighed one hundred and seventy pounds with zero body fat but long hard muscles that looked like bundles of wires. His enhanced metabolism filled him with so much restless energy that even now he was fidgeting and aching to get moving on this investigation. Bane was wearing his usual outfit of black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket, which had become so much his trademark that it was almost a uniform.
The knock from the door to the hall was unexpected. The Dire Wolf swung around eagerly and rushed over. As he approached the door, his left hand went to the butt of his anesthetic dart gun holstered at his hip beneath the jacket. "Hold on just a second," he called on his way.
Standing next to the door but not pressed up against it, Bane slowed his breathing and focused his attention on hearing. This was one of the first Tel Shai techniques he had mastered. In thirty seconds, his ears became much more sensitive as his awareness shifted into them. There was only one person in the hall outside, he concluded, a woman. She was breathing normally, not excited or upset, and from clues such as a lack of wheezing and an easy intake, he figured she was young and healthy. Teacher Chael had told him in a few years he would be able to locate and identify heartbeats at close range.
Unlocking the door, Bane swung it open and watched a tall dark-haired woman in a red dress rush past him.
"Close it quickly, my dear," she said with the faintest accent.
Beneath heavy dark brows, Bane's pale eyes were unfriendly. "Rook? What are you doing in Georgia? Never mind, I guess your activities take you everywhere."
The adventuress turned her head, flinging the lustrous hair back, and bestowed a dazzling smile as if giving a present. "Ah, Jeremy. We have not met since that night we shrank Karl Eldritch down to the size of a dust mote."
"Come on in," he said as she crossed over to lower herself delicately to the couch in the center of the suite. "I assume you are bringing trouble with you, as always?"
Rook crossed one sleek leg over the other and raised an arm across the back of the couch to emphasize her breasts.
"Forget the poses," the Dire Wolf said. "I'm all business, lady."
"Very well, it is your loss. Ca ne fait rien. Tell me, Jeremy, are you not also quite a distance from your usual territory?" On the coffee table before her were a half dozen maps of the state and the city, which he had obviously been studying.
Bane started toward the couch, thought better of sitting next to her and pulled an easy chair closer to drop down facing her. "First, level with me. Is someone going to kick the door in and start shooting any second?"
"Not on my account, I assure you," she replied with a throaty chuckle. "I dare say you have more violent enemies than I do and more of them. What, no drink offered to a charming guest?"
"I just got here. There's nothing but water from the tap," he said. "Come on, Rook, start talking."
"Be that way, then." Rook uncrossed her legs and leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. "Tell me, have you ever heard of the Combridge family treasure?"
"No." Just the single word.
"It was during your American Civil War. What a nightmare those years sound like. General Obediah Combridge was going into battle but first he stripped his mansion of all its valuables. Evidently there was a surfeit of gold utensils, jewelry, silver coins, paintings and more. In particular, there was some statuary by a sculptor whose work is all the rage in Europe now. Combridge was quite wealthy, although I have to say that his fortune was amassed on the backs of slaves. Be that as it may, he sent his family away and hid the fortune somewhere in this area."
"Go on," Bane prompted her. "I'm with you so far."
"But the general fell in battle and the family returned a year later with no idea where the valuables had been hidden." The beauty raised her shoulders an elegant inch and dropped them. "They scraped along by renting out their vast acres to sharecroppers - is that the word?- and eventually the estate was sold off bit by bit."
"I can guess where you come in," the Dire Wolf said. "You're on a treasure hunt."
"Ah, so true. There is a clue. As his wife said farewell before the battle, Combridge presented her with an item he had just had fashioned.. a cameo of the Blue Rose. This was their private joke, that their love was as rare a thing as a blue rose. He told her to guard it well and he would explain its secret when they were reunited." Rook smiled sadly and held up her hands. "As it happened, they never met again in this world."
Bane was finding it hard to sit still. Impatience was his biggest weakness. "Okay, okay, so this cameo has something about it that reveals where the treasure is and you're on the trail. Right?"
"A thousand pardons. May I use your bathroom, Jeremy? I have been traveling."
"Sure. That door right over there."
Taking her handbag with her, Rook rose and crossed the room without putting any seductiveness into her gait. She had reluctantly accepted it would be wasted on Bane. Like the Gentle One, the Dire Wolf just did not seem interested. She closed the door behind her with a soft click.
Jeremy Bane got up and paced. Sitting motionless was an effort for him. He did not trust Rook an inch, of course, he realized everyone was a mere pawn to her. But he hoped he would be able to at least hold his own and not get manipulated by her stories too easily. His Kumundu training helped him read body language and spot deception, but Rook was just too good at her art for him to be certain about her tales.
After a reasonable time, Rook emerged again and surprised him by heading for the door. He swung around as she paused with one hand on the doorknob. "Is that it? You just came here to tell me that story?"
"Ah, my Dire Wolf, I am increasingly concerned that I have been followed despite my precautions. Perhaps I will return later, when I am more certain. Adieu!" She raised a manicured hand in an ironic salute and left the room.
As soon as the door closed behind her, Bane dove across the room and tore up the bathroom. There it was, concealed inside the shower head. A tiny cameo that he could easily close his hand around... a white oval with an intricately carved blue rose in its center. The Dire Wolf tucked it into the inner pocket of his jacket and rushed back out into the suite. As if he had rehearsed it a hundred times, he flung the window up facing State Street and swung his legs through the opening. Hanging by his fingertips, he dropped down lightly to the sidewalk three stories below as easily as if stepping off a curb.
On this side street, so late at night, there had been no traffic passing and he thought no one had seen him drop. The Dire Wolf placed his back against the hotel wall and edged over to peer around the corner. There was Rook, just emerging from the lobby. She turned in the other direction and strode away with her heels clicking on the sidewalk.
Bane watched. Just as she crossed to the next block, a tall man in a blue suit emerged from the shadows of a doorway and started following her. The Dire Wolf allowed himself a faint predatory grin as he started shadowing the shadower.
III.
After almost twenty minutes of walking, Rook reached a small park in the center of Pruitt. It was only three blocks long, a narrow rectangle of green with a few elm trees for shade, some wooden benches and a statue of a military man standing with one hand on his heart. Around the base of the statue was a circular stone ledge with a few footrests at intervals. At almost two in the morning, it was deserted and only an occasional car drifted past. Rook marched up to the statue, daintily lowered herself down on the ledge and lifted her feet as if grateful to be off them.
Across the street, the man in the blue suit watched her from the darkened doorway of a shoe store, and from a block further back, the Dire Wolf watched him in turn. After a few seconds, the shadower crossed over and openly approached where Rook sat. Staring, Bane felt a twinge at seeing how much blood covered the man's white shirt as he stepped into the light.
"My word, darling, I did not expect to see you so soon," Rook said blithely. "Don't you have three bullets in your vital organs? Didn't you fall thirty feet into the river a few hours ago?"
The Haunt pushed his hat back on his head and grinned cheerfully. "Well, you know, I eat right and exercise daily and try to avoid stress." His suit was in fact still damp and wrinkled. The shirt was soaked in blood that had dried black.
On the other side of the statue display, Jeremy Bane crept up low to the ground, on fingers and toes. Between his all-black outfit and years of Kumundu training, he was extremely difficult to spot when he didn't want to be. Crouching and slowing his own breathing, he could not only follow their conversation but catch intonations and inflections.
"I do hope you harbor no grudge against me for that display of marksmanship," Rook said. "Let's be honest, I have seen you run over by a truck, fallen off an eight-story building and thrown across a field by an explosion... and each time, you laugh it off as one would a paper cut on the finger. Obviously, my darling, you have some supernatural qualities."
The Haunt did not answer directly. He rubbed his chest and scowled. "I'll let it slide this time, Rook, but don't make a habit of practicing your aim on me."
"I believe the Gentle One thinks you have the Blue Rose Cameo in your possession," Rook said.
"That's such a bizarre name for a criminal who has ordered as much murder and torture as he has," replied the Haunt as he sat down next to the beautiful woman and clasped his gloved hands in front of him. The domino mask was surprisingly effective at making his expression hard to read.
"Heh. Yes, it is like the way people in Europe referred to elves and fairies as 'the honest ones' or 'the good folk,'" she said. "It's ironic. But we must get back to the cameo, my dear. There are quite a few villains searching for it right now."
"From sad experience, I'm sure the cameo is actually on you at the moment. You only told your boss I had taken it to get the heat off you."
Rook chuckled and reached down to her handbag. "Allow me to be honest with you, Haunt-"
"Why start now?"
"Because hundreds of thousands of dollars are at stake. Some of the statuary in the Combridge treasure might be worth half a million apiece. The sculptor has a certain following among the more refined. Now, I must admit I have not been able to find any clue on the cameo as to where the treasure is hidden, but you show a certain--shall we say, capability to pull surprises from your hat?"
Listening closely from almost within reach, Bane fought down an urge to leap up and tackle this Haunt character. That would not be productive. He had come to Georgia to deal with the gangleader called the Gentle One, who had sent killers to New York after some witnesses to his crimes. Bane had stopped the hit men and he was offended at the action because he regarded Manhattan as his own turf. His intention was to take the Gentle One down, All this business with Rook and the Haunt and a hidden treasure was really secondary to him.
"Go on," the masked man told Rook.
"I propose an arrangement. You examine the cameo and if- or shall I say when, perhaps?- you uncover its secret, we go claim the treasure. You will have the satisfaction of keeping that money out of the hands of the Gentle One." She turned her flawless smile on him like a weapon. "I will have the satisfaction of having it in the hands of one who will put it to good use. That is, myself."
The Haunt considered this for a moment, took his fedora off and straightened it up a bit, then said, "It's worth a try. Your employer's men will be after me anyway because they think I have the cameo, so I might as well really hold onto it. Okay, deal."
"Are you still driving that pathetic old taxi?" she asked.
"It's great camoflauge. No one notices a taxi anywhere, and I did have a new engine put in," he said. "Why do you ask?"
"I thought perhaps I should accompany you," Rook answered. "I might help you examine this infuriating cameo."
"No. The whole point of a secret headquarters is that it's secret. I agreed to meet you here. We will meet again tomorrow night at a different location."
"Oh, very well. Down by the old lighthouse, then. You wound me, Haunt. When have you ever regretted dealing with me?"
"Every. Single. Time." He sighed. "Right now, I'm pretty sure you're playing me in some way. Where's your accomplice, that Belgian guy? Or the Dutch woman? Are you working this solo?"
"My friends will be in the area shortly. Here," she said, reaching into her handbag and giving him a small object. "Several men have already died trying to claim this."
"It's so small. Rook, I'm sure I'll regret this, but yeah, I'll see what I can find out about this thing."
"Wonderful. Now, explain those bullet holes in your chest to me..."
By this point, Bane had backed away from the statue and was moving through the dark. He had earlier spotted a blue-topped taxi parked on a side street and the conversation had decided his next course of action. He found it hadn't moved. There was no one behind the wheel. Crouching down at the rear of the taxi, he took a small flat metal device from one of the many inner pockets of his jacket and clicked it inside the wheel well where it stuck by magnetism. These little tracers were Trom-made, which meant their signal reached further and was more reliable than those used by spy agencies.
Even as he did this, he heard quiet footsteps approaching. There wasn't time to get away. Taking quite a chance, Bane swung around behind the taxi and stretched out on the street behind it. There were no cars parked in front of the cab, so he hoped the Haunt wouldn't have any reason to back up. A few seconds later, he heard the front door open and close, then the motor started up. The taxi pulled away onto the deserted street and Bane waited until it had turned the next corner before standing up. Wearing all black was extremely useful in Midnight War activities.
Brushing himself off, the Dire Wolf headed back to the green to find Rook was gone. He had wanted to conceal a tracer on her as well, but her tight silk dress offered no place to try, and the small leather handbag was no better. He set off at a brisk walk back toward the hotel where he was staying. Maybe he was getting distracted from his plans to attack the Gentle One but Rook was always in the middle of trouble and worth keeping an eye on. And he had been curious about the Haunt for a long time.
IV.
An hour later, Bane pulled his Mustang over to the side of a back road and got out. It was a dark night, overcast and without a moon, but his eyesight was enhanced by the tagra tea diet and he could see clearly in a few seconds. There was a chest-high wire fence in front of him, and within it he could see the backs of a few tombstones with some unused space left. This was the Brunswick Creek Cemetery he had seen marked on the maps he had studied.
Reaching back inside his car, the Dire Wolf turned off the tracking monitor and replaced the device to the knapsack in the back seat. He had followed the tiny glowing green blip on the screen to the countryside outside of Pruitt, where family homes were spaced well apart. A sluggish stream ran alongside the road, Brunswick Creek itself, with willow trees hanging low over the water. This looked more like the Georgia he had pictured. Bane went over and stood beside the fence.
On the drive here, Bane had tried to remember everything he knew about the Haunt. It wasn't much. The man was said to be a vigilante of some sort, true identity unknown, who operated throughout the South but mostly in this area. The Haunt had reportedly helped solve many robberies and a few murders over the past two years. He was known to gather evidence and present it anonymously to the police for them to act on, and he had also been reported to obtain confessions from many suspects but these were obtained by duress and not admissible in court. This had led to a few cases being thrown out, which diminished his reputation slightly.
The Haunt was widely regarded as an urban legend in the underworld. Many believed he was just a made-up figure used by the police to cover their irregular methods, and the sighting of a masked man were dismissed as some undercover officer in a distracting disguise. Bane had been interested but had not expected to ever find out the truth.
Now it looked like he would get some answers. Bane moved back a few feet, took a running start and lightly vaulted over the wire fence to land on fingers and toes in the damp grass on the other side. He did this with an ease that suggested he was capable of higher jumps without effort. Watching and listening but catching no sign that anyone was near, he started moving through the cemetery. As he headed toward the front of the grounds, he noticed the tombstones were getting smaller and more worn. They were from when the town of Pruitt had been founded in the early 1800s.
Up ahead, lights showed a small, one story wooden house with an attic. Over the back door, a single bulb shone in a glass box. In a window on the ground floor was the dim glow of a night light. Bane approached the house slowly. Off to one side was a shed which had its sliding door up to reveal a ride-on lawnmower and some groundskeeping equipment. Parked next to the shed were two vehicles. One was a red Dodge pick-up truck with its bed filled with rakes and shovels, but the other was covered by a tarp.
Bane crept over and lifted a corner of the tarp to reveal a blue-roofed taxi. He examined the license plates and found there were three of them with different numbers, one wired atop the other, so they could be changed quickly. He straightened up again with a faint smile. Well, it figured someone called the Haunt would make his headquarters in a graveyard.
Almost invisible in his black outfit on a dark night, the Dire Wolf stepped silently around the house. The nightlight vaguely showed the interior of a bathroom with an old-fashioned porcelain bathtub up on legs off the floor. Bane made his way toward the front, where two lights burned on either side of the door. A wooden plaque nailed to the post on the front porch read CARETAKER and in smaller lettters, SQUIRE PINKSTON. Was this the Haunt's real name and daytime job? It seemed a little too obvious.
Still circling the house, Bane noticed something interesting in the dirt. By now, his night vision had fully kicked in and he could see almost as well as he would in daylight. In the soft damp earth beside the gravel driveway in front of the house was a fresh footprint. A man's shoe, size 12 in Bane's estimation, and it was pointing away from the house. His hunting instincts flared up. He searched the immediate area and located a second print on a path between the rows of tombstones.
Bane did not suspect the supernatural at that point. To him, this didn't seem like a genuine Midnight War case but just a bunch of crooks and semi-crooks trying to cheat each other. Still, it WAS the middle of the night in an old run-down graveyard and he felt a bit on edge. After a few more minutes, he found a third print near a mausoleum. There were at least four of these structures in the Brunswick Creek Cemetery, and this was the largest, a white stone structure with ornate carving around the top edge. The door had mock columns carved from the stone, and a name inscribed in cursive letters, SUDLOW FAMILY. There was a huge padlock holding the door shut.
Stepping in closer, Bane froze in place and let his senses work. There was a definite throbbing sensation in the ground beneath his boots. He knelt and placed a palm on the ground, letting the vibration register. Some sort of motor was running beneath him. Now he was really intrigued. The Dire Wolf looked around the immediate area. Six feet away from the mauseoleum, near the path, two metal pipes stuck up knee-high from the ground. He knelt by them. They were stainless steel and new, capped to keep rain out but with openings on the sides. One had faint diesel fumes seeping from it. He placed his hand near the other one and felt air being drawn down in the pipe. In the gloom, Bane's grey eyes gleamed with excitement. Moments like this were what he lived for.
Returning to the mausoleum, he drew a pencil flashlight from inside his jacket and ran a thread of intense white light around the door. Something about it did not seem quite right. He scrutinized the padlock and decided it was a diversion. After a few minutes of probing, the Dire Wolf located a small panel which swung open to reveal a keyhole and handle. Better and better, he thought. He took a Trom device from an inner pocket and pressed it to the keyhole. Thin metal filaments extruded into the lock, shaped themselves to fit the interior and then rotated to unlock it with a click. Returning the device to his jacket, Bane seized the handle and pulled. Against some resistance, the massive door swung outward. Warm dry air rushed out. Bane stepped around to peer inside and walked right into a powerful straight punch from a gloved fist.
8/8/2016
10/23-10/25/1982
I.
"What on Earth is that unholy racket?" demanded the Gentle One.
Sitting five feet away from the desk, Rook had been admiring how the Gentle One managed to keep himself shrouded and unseen without leaving the room entirely dark. A dim purple bulb in the center of his desk barely revealed his gloved hands when he placed them near it. Those hands were broad, powerful, with stubby fingers and the white cloth gloves appeared purple because of the light. The Gentle One had developed a manner of emphasizing his statements quite eloquently with gestures from those gloved hands.
Beyond arm's reach of the desk, a highbacked wooden chain was fixed to the floor. Set on its back behind the occupant's head was an identical purple bulb that cast the vaguest light over the person in the chair. Rook was not fond of this arrangement. One of the most gorgeous women freelancing in international crime, her looks were both a major tool and a weapon she had learned to use well. But, after dealing with the Gentle One, she realized he was not susceptible to female pulchritude.
She had heard the crashing and roaring of angry voices from next door at the same time her new employer had, and she was on her feet instantly. Rook was half French and half Japanese, a tall slim beauty with straight glossy black hair that reached to the small of her back. While in her early teens, she had earned several million dollars posing for magazine ads but there had always been a strong streak of larceny and a craving for adrenalin in her soul that guaranteed she would not live within the law for long. Rook smiled with her perfectly curved lips and said huskily, "I have the strangest feeling we both know who has intruded on your hideaway."
"The Haunt must die," whispered the mastermind in the shadows. "I have grown so weary of his theatrics. Confound the man!"
Smoothing down the silk of her tight wine-colored dress, Rook said, "I'll see what I can do. Calculate a suitable bonus for me." She snatched up a small leather handbag with a fine-linked gold chain from where it had been laid at her feet. Another of the tiny purple bulbs had lit up at the top of a door, illuminating a few inches just enough that she could find the handle without fumbling. Careful not to look back, as per her standing orders, Rook stepped into a large unfurnished room that in contrast was brightly lit by a naked 75-watt bulb in the ceiling. In that room, caught in a wild brawl, one man was holding his own against four bruisers.
Rook smiled indulgently. Of course it was the Haunt again. Who else? The four thugs working for the Gentle One were all big, muscular guys with lots of experience beating up people. Yet they had their hands full with just one man who shrugged off their punches and kicks while landing punishing blows in return. At the moment, one of the goons had his arms wrapped around the Haunt's legs and was trying to immobilize him while the other three took swings. It didn't seem to faze the loner.
The Haunt was a vivid figure in a royal blue suit with matching fedora and wrist-length gloves. He wore a spotless white shirt and bright red necktie, but the flamoyant wardrobe was marred by the fact that one sleeve of the suitjacket had been ripped loose at the shoulder seam and that his shirt had come loose from the waistband during the struggle. His cloth domino mask was the same royal blue, fitting as snugly as if it had been grafted on.
One simple uppercut from a gloved fist lifted one of the thugs clear of the floor. The Haunt did not seem to have any martial arts training, just simple roughhouse boxing, but it obviously worked for him. In another second, he had kicked loose of the man holding his legs and jumped away from the hired fighters. On the other side of the bare room was a large uncurtained window that showed only the moonless night sky. The Haunt swung around with his back to the view and grinned insolently. He was a remarkably good-looking young man, evidently only in his mid-twenties, with crisp black hair and a strong jawline a movie star would envy. That face was bruised a bit by the brawl but swelling had only just started to show.
"Gah-DAM," yelled one of the thugs. "What is that guy made of, anyway?"
"Come on, we'll get 'im from four sides at once. No matter how tough he is, he'll be crying for his mommy before we're done with him," said another.
"If you gentlemen would step aside...?" drawled Rook. Startled at finding her having come up right behind them while they were distracted, the four men hurried to get out of her way.
"Rook? Again? Hey, I love your hair that way," the Haunt called over.
"You big moose," she answered, "You will never ever learn." She straightened her arm, her slender hand filled with the little Beretta Bobcat she had plucked from her handbag. This was a tiny, easily concealed weapon and she compensated for its modest stopping power by using 22 Hollow Points and with severe accuracy. Five shots detonated in close succession, and three bright red splashes of blood geysered out from the front of the Haunt's white shirt. He was already tumbling back when the fourth bullet hit him low in the stomach and the fifth missed completely, then he crashed backward through the window behind him to disappear into darkness.
"He's gonna land in the Heewasauga," laughed one of the thugs. "There, hear the splash?"
Rook did not comment and there was no triumph in her dark eyes. With a loud sigh, she turned to glare at the four hired strongmen. "You clowns, didn't you see what he had in his hand?"
In a timid way that was comical coming from a huge brute with a flattened nose and scarred knuckles, one of them said, "No, Miss Rook."
"Just Rook. Not Miss Rook. Somehow that joker got a hold of what you were supposedly guarding. He had the Blue Rose Cameo when he went out the window!"
II.
One o'clock in the morning. On the third floor of the Halliwick Hotel, Jeremy Bane stood holding the curtain aside to gaze down at Pruitt. He had never been in Georgia before and, although he knew cities like Atlanta were as big and modern as anything in the Northeast, he had still been surprised as how up-to-date and energetic a city like Pruitt was. The town had a reputation for lots of crime and accusations of corruption in the police department, but that could be found anywhere.
At twenty-five, the Dire Wolf was at a physical peak. He stood just over six feet tall and weighed one hundred and seventy pounds with zero body fat but long hard muscles that looked like bundles of wires. His enhanced metabolism filled him with so much restless energy that even now he was fidgeting and aching to get moving on this investigation. Bane was wearing his usual outfit of black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket, which had become so much his trademark that it was almost a uniform.
The knock from the door to the hall was unexpected. The Dire Wolf swung around eagerly and rushed over. As he approached the door, his left hand went to the butt of his anesthetic dart gun holstered at his hip beneath the jacket. "Hold on just a second," he called on his way.
Standing next to the door but not pressed up against it, Bane slowed his breathing and focused his attention on hearing. This was one of the first Tel Shai techniques he had mastered. In thirty seconds, his ears became much more sensitive as his awareness shifted into them. There was only one person in the hall outside, he concluded, a woman. She was breathing normally, not excited or upset, and from clues such as a lack of wheezing and an easy intake, he figured she was young and healthy. Teacher Chael had told him in a few years he would be able to locate and identify heartbeats at close range.
Unlocking the door, Bane swung it open and watched a tall dark-haired woman in a red dress rush past him.
"Close it quickly, my dear," she said with the faintest accent.
Beneath heavy dark brows, Bane's pale eyes were unfriendly. "Rook? What are you doing in Georgia? Never mind, I guess your activities take you everywhere."
The adventuress turned her head, flinging the lustrous hair back, and bestowed a dazzling smile as if giving a present. "Ah, Jeremy. We have not met since that night we shrank Karl Eldritch down to the size of a dust mote."
"Come on in," he said as she crossed over to lower herself delicately to the couch in the center of the suite. "I assume you are bringing trouble with you, as always?"
Rook crossed one sleek leg over the other and raised an arm across the back of the couch to emphasize her breasts.
"Forget the poses," the Dire Wolf said. "I'm all business, lady."
"Very well, it is your loss. Ca ne fait rien. Tell me, Jeremy, are you not also quite a distance from your usual territory?" On the coffee table before her were a half dozen maps of the state and the city, which he had obviously been studying.
Bane started toward the couch, thought better of sitting next to her and pulled an easy chair closer to drop down facing her. "First, level with me. Is someone going to kick the door in and start shooting any second?"
"Not on my account, I assure you," she replied with a throaty chuckle. "I dare say you have more violent enemies than I do and more of them. What, no drink offered to a charming guest?"
"I just got here. There's nothing but water from the tap," he said. "Come on, Rook, start talking."
"Be that way, then." Rook uncrossed her legs and leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. "Tell me, have you ever heard of the Combridge family treasure?"
"No." Just the single word.
"It was during your American Civil War. What a nightmare those years sound like. General Obediah Combridge was going into battle but first he stripped his mansion of all its valuables. Evidently there was a surfeit of gold utensils, jewelry, silver coins, paintings and more. In particular, there was some statuary by a sculptor whose work is all the rage in Europe now. Combridge was quite wealthy, although I have to say that his fortune was amassed on the backs of slaves. Be that as it may, he sent his family away and hid the fortune somewhere in this area."
"Go on," Bane prompted her. "I'm with you so far."
"But the general fell in battle and the family returned a year later with no idea where the valuables had been hidden." The beauty raised her shoulders an elegant inch and dropped them. "They scraped along by renting out their vast acres to sharecroppers - is that the word?- and eventually the estate was sold off bit by bit."
"I can guess where you come in," the Dire Wolf said. "You're on a treasure hunt."
"Ah, so true. There is a clue. As his wife said farewell before the battle, Combridge presented her with an item he had just had fashioned.. a cameo of the Blue Rose. This was their private joke, that their love was as rare a thing as a blue rose. He told her to guard it well and he would explain its secret when they were reunited." Rook smiled sadly and held up her hands. "As it happened, they never met again in this world."
Bane was finding it hard to sit still. Impatience was his biggest weakness. "Okay, okay, so this cameo has something about it that reveals where the treasure is and you're on the trail. Right?"
"A thousand pardons. May I use your bathroom, Jeremy? I have been traveling."
"Sure. That door right over there."
Taking her handbag with her, Rook rose and crossed the room without putting any seductiveness into her gait. She had reluctantly accepted it would be wasted on Bane. Like the Gentle One, the Dire Wolf just did not seem interested. She closed the door behind her with a soft click.
Jeremy Bane got up and paced. Sitting motionless was an effort for him. He did not trust Rook an inch, of course, he realized everyone was a mere pawn to her. But he hoped he would be able to at least hold his own and not get manipulated by her stories too easily. His Kumundu training helped him read body language and spot deception, but Rook was just too good at her art for him to be certain about her tales.
After a reasonable time, Rook emerged again and surprised him by heading for the door. He swung around as she paused with one hand on the doorknob. "Is that it? You just came here to tell me that story?"
"Ah, my Dire Wolf, I am increasingly concerned that I have been followed despite my precautions. Perhaps I will return later, when I am more certain. Adieu!" She raised a manicured hand in an ironic salute and left the room.
As soon as the door closed behind her, Bane dove across the room and tore up the bathroom. There it was, concealed inside the shower head. A tiny cameo that he could easily close his hand around... a white oval with an intricately carved blue rose in its center. The Dire Wolf tucked it into the inner pocket of his jacket and rushed back out into the suite. As if he had rehearsed it a hundred times, he flung the window up facing State Street and swung his legs through the opening. Hanging by his fingertips, he dropped down lightly to the sidewalk three stories below as easily as if stepping off a curb.
On this side street, so late at night, there had been no traffic passing and he thought no one had seen him drop. The Dire Wolf placed his back against the hotel wall and edged over to peer around the corner. There was Rook, just emerging from the lobby. She turned in the other direction and strode away with her heels clicking on the sidewalk.
Bane watched. Just as she crossed to the next block, a tall man in a blue suit emerged from the shadows of a doorway and started following her. The Dire Wolf allowed himself a faint predatory grin as he started shadowing the shadower.
III.
After almost twenty minutes of walking, Rook reached a small park in the center of Pruitt. It was only three blocks long, a narrow rectangle of green with a few elm trees for shade, some wooden benches and a statue of a military man standing with one hand on his heart. Around the base of the statue was a circular stone ledge with a few footrests at intervals. At almost two in the morning, it was deserted and only an occasional car drifted past. Rook marched up to the statue, daintily lowered herself down on the ledge and lifted her feet as if grateful to be off them.
Across the street, the man in the blue suit watched her from the darkened doorway of a shoe store, and from a block further back, the Dire Wolf watched him in turn. After a few seconds, the shadower crossed over and openly approached where Rook sat. Staring, Bane felt a twinge at seeing how much blood covered the man's white shirt as he stepped into the light.
"My word, darling, I did not expect to see you so soon," Rook said blithely. "Don't you have three bullets in your vital organs? Didn't you fall thirty feet into the river a few hours ago?"
The Haunt pushed his hat back on his head and grinned cheerfully. "Well, you know, I eat right and exercise daily and try to avoid stress." His suit was in fact still damp and wrinkled. The shirt was soaked in blood that had dried black.
On the other side of the statue display, Jeremy Bane crept up low to the ground, on fingers and toes. Between his all-black outfit and years of Kumundu training, he was extremely difficult to spot when he didn't want to be. Crouching and slowing his own breathing, he could not only follow their conversation but catch intonations and inflections.
"I do hope you harbor no grudge against me for that display of marksmanship," Rook said. "Let's be honest, I have seen you run over by a truck, fallen off an eight-story building and thrown across a field by an explosion... and each time, you laugh it off as one would a paper cut on the finger. Obviously, my darling, you have some supernatural qualities."
The Haunt did not answer directly. He rubbed his chest and scowled. "I'll let it slide this time, Rook, but don't make a habit of practicing your aim on me."
"I believe the Gentle One thinks you have the Blue Rose Cameo in your possession," Rook said.
"That's such a bizarre name for a criminal who has ordered as much murder and torture as he has," replied the Haunt as he sat down next to the beautiful woman and clasped his gloved hands in front of him. The domino mask was surprisingly effective at making his expression hard to read.
"Heh. Yes, it is like the way people in Europe referred to elves and fairies as 'the honest ones' or 'the good folk,'" she said. "It's ironic. But we must get back to the cameo, my dear. There are quite a few villains searching for it right now."
"From sad experience, I'm sure the cameo is actually on you at the moment. You only told your boss I had taken it to get the heat off you."
Rook chuckled and reached down to her handbag. "Allow me to be honest with you, Haunt-"
"Why start now?"
"Because hundreds of thousands of dollars are at stake. Some of the statuary in the Combridge treasure might be worth half a million apiece. The sculptor has a certain following among the more refined. Now, I must admit I have not been able to find any clue on the cameo as to where the treasure is hidden, but you show a certain--shall we say, capability to pull surprises from your hat?"
Listening closely from almost within reach, Bane fought down an urge to leap up and tackle this Haunt character. That would not be productive. He had come to Georgia to deal with the gangleader called the Gentle One, who had sent killers to New York after some witnesses to his crimes. Bane had stopped the hit men and he was offended at the action because he regarded Manhattan as his own turf. His intention was to take the Gentle One down, All this business with Rook and the Haunt and a hidden treasure was really secondary to him.
"Go on," the masked man told Rook.
"I propose an arrangement. You examine the cameo and if- or shall I say when, perhaps?- you uncover its secret, we go claim the treasure. You will have the satisfaction of keeping that money out of the hands of the Gentle One." She turned her flawless smile on him like a weapon. "I will have the satisfaction of having it in the hands of one who will put it to good use. That is, myself."
The Haunt considered this for a moment, took his fedora off and straightened it up a bit, then said, "It's worth a try. Your employer's men will be after me anyway because they think I have the cameo, so I might as well really hold onto it. Okay, deal."
"Are you still driving that pathetic old taxi?" she asked.
"It's great camoflauge. No one notices a taxi anywhere, and I did have a new engine put in," he said. "Why do you ask?"
"I thought perhaps I should accompany you," Rook answered. "I might help you examine this infuriating cameo."
"No. The whole point of a secret headquarters is that it's secret. I agreed to meet you here. We will meet again tomorrow night at a different location."
"Oh, very well. Down by the old lighthouse, then. You wound me, Haunt. When have you ever regretted dealing with me?"
"Every. Single. Time." He sighed. "Right now, I'm pretty sure you're playing me in some way. Where's your accomplice, that Belgian guy? Or the Dutch woman? Are you working this solo?"
"My friends will be in the area shortly. Here," she said, reaching into her handbag and giving him a small object. "Several men have already died trying to claim this."
"It's so small. Rook, I'm sure I'll regret this, but yeah, I'll see what I can find out about this thing."
"Wonderful. Now, explain those bullet holes in your chest to me..."
By this point, Bane had backed away from the statue and was moving through the dark. He had earlier spotted a blue-topped taxi parked on a side street and the conversation had decided his next course of action. He found it hadn't moved. There was no one behind the wheel. Crouching down at the rear of the taxi, he took a small flat metal device from one of the many inner pockets of his jacket and clicked it inside the wheel well where it stuck by magnetism. These little tracers were Trom-made, which meant their signal reached further and was more reliable than those used by spy agencies.
Even as he did this, he heard quiet footsteps approaching. There wasn't time to get away. Taking quite a chance, Bane swung around behind the taxi and stretched out on the street behind it. There were no cars parked in front of the cab, so he hoped the Haunt wouldn't have any reason to back up. A few seconds later, he heard the front door open and close, then the motor started up. The taxi pulled away onto the deserted street and Bane waited until it had turned the next corner before standing up. Wearing all black was extremely useful in Midnight War activities.
Brushing himself off, the Dire Wolf headed back to the green to find Rook was gone. He had wanted to conceal a tracer on her as well, but her tight silk dress offered no place to try, and the small leather handbag was no better. He set off at a brisk walk back toward the hotel where he was staying. Maybe he was getting distracted from his plans to attack the Gentle One but Rook was always in the middle of trouble and worth keeping an eye on. And he had been curious about the Haunt for a long time.
IV.
An hour later, Bane pulled his Mustang over to the side of a back road and got out. It was a dark night, overcast and without a moon, but his eyesight was enhanced by the tagra tea diet and he could see clearly in a few seconds. There was a chest-high wire fence in front of him, and within it he could see the backs of a few tombstones with some unused space left. This was the Brunswick Creek Cemetery he had seen marked on the maps he had studied.
Reaching back inside his car, the Dire Wolf turned off the tracking monitor and replaced the device to the knapsack in the back seat. He had followed the tiny glowing green blip on the screen to the countryside outside of Pruitt, where family homes were spaced well apart. A sluggish stream ran alongside the road, Brunswick Creek itself, with willow trees hanging low over the water. This looked more like the Georgia he had pictured. Bane went over and stood beside the fence.
On the drive here, Bane had tried to remember everything he knew about the Haunt. It wasn't much. The man was said to be a vigilante of some sort, true identity unknown, who operated throughout the South but mostly in this area. The Haunt had reportedly helped solve many robberies and a few murders over the past two years. He was known to gather evidence and present it anonymously to the police for them to act on, and he had also been reported to obtain confessions from many suspects but these were obtained by duress and not admissible in court. This had led to a few cases being thrown out, which diminished his reputation slightly.
The Haunt was widely regarded as an urban legend in the underworld. Many believed he was just a made-up figure used by the police to cover their irregular methods, and the sighting of a masked man were dismissed as some undercover officer in a distracting disguise. Bane had been interested but had not expected to ever find out the truth.
Now it looked like he would get some answers. Bane moved back a few feet, took a running start and lightly vaulted over the wire fence to land on fingers and toes in the damp grass on the other side. He did this with an ease that suggested he was capable of higher jumps without effort. Watching and listening but catching no sign that anyone was near, he started moving through the cemetery. As he headed toward the front of the grounds, he noticed the tombstones were getting smaller and more worn. They were from when the town of Pruitt had been founded in the early 1800s.
Up ahead, lights showed a small, one story wooden house with an attic. Over the back door, a single bulb shone in a glass box. In a window on the ground floor was the dim glow of a night light. Bane approached the house slowly. Off to one side was a shed which had its sliding door up to reveal a ride-on lawnmower and some groundskeeping equipment. Parked next to the shed were two vehicles. One was a red Dodge pick-up truck with its bed filled with rakes and shovels, but the other was covered by a tarp.
Bane crept over and lifted a corner of the tarp to reveal a blue-roofed taxi. He examined the license plates and found there were three of them with different numbers, one wired atop the other, so they could be changed quickly. He straightened up again with a faint smile. Well, it figured someone called the Haunt would make his headquarters in a graveyard.
Almost invisible in his black outfit on a dark night, the Dire Wolf stepped silently around the house. The nightlight vaguely showed the interior of a bathroom with an old-fashioned porcelain bathtub up on legs off the floor. Bane made his way toward the front, where two lights burned on either side of the door. A wooden plaque nailed to the post on the front porch read CARETAKER and in smaller lettters, SQUIRE PINKSTON. Was this the Haunt's real name and daytime job? It seemed a little too obvious.
Still circling the house, Bane noticed something interesting in the dirt. By now, his night vision had fully kicked in and he could see almost as well as he would in daylight. In the soft damp earth beside the gravel driveway in front of the house was a fresh footprint. A man's shoe, size 12 in Bane's estimation, and it was pointing away from the house. His hunting instincts flared up. He searched the immediate area and located a second print on a path between the rows of tombstones.
Bane did not suspect the supernatural at that point. To him, this didn't seem like a genuine Midnight War case but just a bunch of crooks and semi-crooks trying to cheat each other. Still, it WAS the middle of the night in an old run-down graveyard and he felt a bit on edge. After a few more minutes, he found a third print near a mausoleum. There were at least four of these structures in the Brunswick Creek Cemetery, and this was the largest, a white stone structure with ornate carving around the top edge. The door had mock columns carved from the stone, and a name inscribed in cursive letters, SUDLOW FAMILY. There was a huge padlock holding the door shut.
Stepping in closer, Bane froze in place and let his senses work. There was a definite throbbing sensation in the ground beneath his boots. He knelt and placed a palm on the ground, letting the vibration register. Some sort of motor was running beneath him. Now he was really intrigued. The Dire Wolf looked around the immediate area. Six feet away from the mauseoleum, near the path, two metal pipes stuck up knee-high from the ground. He knelt by them. They were stainless steel and new, capped to keep rain out but with openings on the sides. One had faint diesel fumes seeping from it. He placed his hand near the other one and felt air being drawn down in the pipe. In the gloom, Bane's grey eyes gleamed with excitement. Moments like this were what he lived for.
Returning to the mausoleum, he drew a pencil flashlight from inside his jacket and ran a thread of intense white light around the door. Something about it did not seem quite right. He scrutinized the padlock and decided it was a diversion. After a few minutes of probing, the Dire Wolf located a small panel which swung open to reveal a keyhole and handle. Better and better, he thought. He took a Trom device from an inner pocket and pressed it to the keyhole. Thin metal filaments extruded into the lock, shaped themselves to fit the interior and then rotated to unlock it with a click. Returning the device to his jacket, Bane seized the handle and pulled. Against some resistance, the massive door swung outward. Warm dry air rushed out. Bane stepped around to peer inside and walked right into a powerful straight punch from a gloved fist.
8/8/2016