"Game Recognizes Game"
"Game Recognizes Game"
11/13/1977
I.
"Ah, the English rose in early bloom," whined a nasal voice from right behind her.
Utterly surprised, Katherine Wheatley gave a start and whirled around. Was her telepathy failing her? How had this unimposing old man gotten up close enough to touch her without her detecting his mind? And why even now was she not picking up any thoughts at all from him? It was as alarming to her as suddenly going deaf would have been.
The man's apparent age and waistline were both about sixty, but at least he was reasonably well dressed in a lightweight white summer suit with a polka-dot bow tie that had been loosely knotted. He lifted an old-fashioned straw hat off thinning whitish blond hair and leered at her in a remarkably unsavory manner. Dominating his face was a bulbous nose as round and red as a tomato. "Forgive me if I startled you, my little crocus, but I seldom spy such a fair flower from the fair islands."
Even more perplexed, Katherine could not stop from asking, "How do you know I'm English? I didn't say anything."
"It is written on your piquant little face, sweetheart. Those cornflower blue eyes like gems catching the light, long straight hair as ebon as the raven wings of night, lips that curl up at the corners as if waiting for a chance to smile..."
"Oh, fuss and bother," she interrupted. Katherine was reassured that she was still picking up stray thoughts from the all the people going up and down the sidewalk outside Bryant Park, right behind the Public Library. Nothing was wrong with her gift, her telepathy was still functional but she could not pick up anything from this strange old man at all. This had never happened to her before. She was wearing a pleated skirt with her light maroon windbreaker and it wasn't reassuring how he was studying her slender legs with an interest not entirely avuncular. "Can I help you somehow or are you only remembering what it was like to flirt with teenage girls?"
"Zooks, you wound me to my very pith," he responded, twirling his hat and tossing it up behind him to catch it with his other hand. "I do believe I am the gentleman you are waiting here to meet. My name is Josiah Vandersanden. Mr Kenneth Dred has expressed interest in purchasing a rare item in my possession." Saying that, he held up a thin cylinder two feet long that had been neatly wrapped in brown paper.
Katherine raised one eyebrow, still worried about not being able to get a glimpse into this man's mind. Since early adolescence when her gift had first manifested, she had never had her telepathy fail her before. "Ah. Sorry to be so curt. My partner should be arriving directly, Mr Vandersanden, I was supposed to meet you here in case Jeremy was delayed..."
The old reprobate's response was cut short as they both spotted a thin young man in black striding across 42nd Street as if all the moving cars had paused for him. Jeremy Bane walked faster than most people could run. When he picked up speed as now, his movements seemed slightly unreal in their quickness. He was up on the sidewalk next to them before his arrival could quite register.
Barely twenty-one but already well-known in the Midnight War, the young Dire Wolf was wearing his trademark outfit of black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket which made him seem even more gaunt than he was. A narrow feral face and pale grey eyes under heavy black brows gave him a striking appearance. "Katherine. I got here as soon as I could. You must be the Vandersanden that we were supposed to meet?"
"Hullo, Jeremy. Yes. This is Jeremy Bane, he also works for Mr Dred and he is the one authorized to make the payment."
Vandersanden's extended palm was met with an unfriendly glare. "Let's see this blasting wand first, okay?"
"Of course, of course," the old man immediately replied. "Yet perhaps this trinket is best not glimpsed by the unwashed hordes of New Yorkers. Shall we find a table to seat ourselves?"
Along that wall of the park, two rows of booths faced each other across a paved promenade. Everything from tourist-oriented T-shirts and posters, scented candles and jewelry were available but the booths mostly hawked a wide variety of food. On this chilly dank November day, the area was not as packed as it normally was. The three of them found an unclaimed wrought iron table and dropped down into chairs designed to be uncomfortable so that people would not loiter but make way for more paying customers.
Bane was visibly reluctant to sit down. Katherine was used to the way he always tried to have a solid wall at his back, but in this case the best he could manage was to have to have the side of a booth behind him. She seated herself facing him so that she could keep an eye on anyone approaching from that direction and gave him a reassuring nod.
Watching Vandersanden place his bundle on the table, the Dire Wolf said nothing until the wrapping paper had been torn away. Revealed was a cylinder of dark coppery metal, shorter and thinner than a human forearm, with esoteric symbols etched into the surface. Capping one end was a faceted green gem.
"Crafted by those abominable Darthim on the island of Maroch itself," drawled Vandersanden. "In the hands of one who can wrest control of its magick, this wand can blow a hole through a brick wall you can poke your arm through. To be quite honest, it's rather like walking around with an unexploded bomb to carry this vile device."
Running his fingers along the rod, Bane made a satisfied sound. "Warm to the touch. What would you say the temperature is today, Katherine?"
"Forty at best, Fahrenheit that is," she said. "I do wish I had chosen a heavier jacket."
"And this talisman feels to be at body temperature. That's a sign it's genuine. All right. Mr Dred has authorized me to pay you this. Fifteen thousand dollars."
Accepting the thick business envelope, Vandersander riffled through the bills critically. "Crisp and fresh as autumn leaves underfoot. Well, young fellow, I believe we are both better off after this exchange."
"I can write a receipt if you want," Bane said, already tightening the wrapping paper up around the metal cylinder again.
"Sir! A gentleman's word is ironclad enough. A firm clasp of honest hands should suffice." Hauling himself up to his feet, Vandersanden extended his right hand, which Bane obligingly shook. Then, tipping his hat at Katherine, he waddled briskly away in the sparse crowd.
"There's a booth on the corner," Bane said. "We'll phone Mr Dred and report. But as long as we're here, we might as well grab some food."
Katherine gave a pleasant chuckle at his enthusiasm. "I swear, you have the metabolism of a hummingbird, Jeremy. If I ate as much each day as you, I believe I would weigh three hundred pounds, but certainly, I am a bit peckish. Bring me a smaller serving of whatever you are having."
"There's cheeseburgers on a grill right opposite us," Bane said as he rose. "Three for me, one for you. Keep an eye on this wand, though."
"Of course." Left for a second by herself, Katherine leaned forward curiously to stare at the end of the Darthan talisman protruding from the rewrapped package. That was curious. She picked it up, holding it closer and suddenly twisted the end counter-clockwise.
Holding a cardboard tray with their burgers, Jeremy Bane froze in mid-step. "What the hell?"
"Oh my goodness, it's a fake. Look at this. This is why it's warm!" The telepath held out her open hand and caught two D-sized batteries falling from inside the tube. "It's got wires inside that heat up."
Visibly shaken for the first time since she had met him half a year earlier, the Dire Wolf fell onto his chair. "He suckered me. And I fell for it."
Their dazed state only lasted for a second longer, because a heavyset man wearing a full-length winter coat approached them. He was holding a canvas bag the same general size at the phony talisman. "Jeremy Bane, I take it?" he asked cheerfully. "Vandersanden here, Josiah Vandersanden. I'm here to do business."
II.
Bane vaulted to his feet so violently that Vandersanden stepped back. "How could I have been so stupid?" he growled. "The greenest tourist wouldn't fall for such a scam!"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Not you. No, it's something else. Listen, I have to go but I'll be back in ten minutes at the most. Mr Vandersanden, would you please wait here with my friend Katherine?" Snatching up two of the cheeseburgers, the young Dire Wolf sprinted off into a crowd that parted in alarm at his hurtling form.
"I'm at a loss, I must admit."
Katherine Wheatley admitted she was not quite as quick-thinking in a stressful situation as Bane, but she had gotten her bearings. She gave the middle-aged occultist her most ingratiating smile. "Won't you please have a seat? I'm sure he will not be gone long. Perhaps you would like a cheeseburger?" she added, seeing that Bane had left two on the table.
"Thank you, no. That was extraordinary. Is that fellow an Olympic track star or something? I've never seen anyone run so fast."
"Jeremy is quite nimble," she replied, taking a small ladylike bite of her own burger.
"And what is this on the table?"
"You know the Midnight War. For every real mystic talisman, there are a dozen frauds."
Lightly skimming the surface of Vandersanden's mind, she picked up on his delight at having a pretty young woman to talk with. He seemed quite willing to sit there for a while. Between bites of the burger, she ventured, "I understand you've known Mr Dred for some time?"
"You could say so, miss. We used to be quite close years ago, we did some exploring in adjacent realms where no Humans have gone before us. But we had a bit of a falling out. Shame, really. We've moved past that to the point where we will cooperate with each other, but I don't think I'd feel comfortable actually facing Kenneth again."
"I quite understand," she said. "Former friends do stir up awkward emotions. Let me ask, if I may be so bold, is there anything you would like me to relay to him?"
"Just good wishes, I suppose," Vandersanden sighed. "I'm curious about you. Katherine Wheatley, right? Midnight War gossip says you're staying with Kenneth as a sort of aide."
"True enough. He IS nearly eighty, you know. I'm glad to run various errands and do some shopping for Mr Dred. He's certainly shown me a secret world that's going on unsuspected all around us." She saw no reason to add that Dred was training her in how to refine and expand her gift. Her telepathy was something she had only revealed to a handful of people and she wanted to stay discreet about it.
"Yes. And your partner there, the Dire Wolf as he's called? There are wild rumors about him."
Katherine could not hide her grin. She finished her cheeseburger and dabbed at her mouth with a paper napkin before saying, "I should think those rumors are understatements."
At that exact second, the young man in black trotted up and threw himself onto the empty chair. "Sorry about that, sir. It couldn't be helped." He showed a yellow bank envelope before tucking it back into his inside jacket pocket. "Let's have a look at this Darthan talisman, then."
The difference was startling. When Vandersanden unwrapped the blasting wand, its metal showed a lurid ruddy sheen even in the drab winter light. The green gem flickered with sparks and glints within its depths. Not merely warm to the touch as the fake had been, contact with the genuine sigil stung uncomfortably. Jeremy Bane examined the object for a few minutes, then glanced over at his partner. "What do you think?"
"All my instincts say to go with it," she said. Both of them knew she meant her telepathic contact had confirmed that this was indeed the real Josiah Vandersanden and that his mind knew the Darthan talisman was both genuine and incredibly dangerous.
"I've learned to trust your judgement. Here you go, Mr Vandersanden." As Bane handed over the bank envelope, his face tightened into more surly lines than usual.
"Well, I'm satisfied," Vandersanden said after briefly thumbing through the money. He got to his feet and exhaled with relief. "Please tell Kenneth that I'm glad this damned thing will be going into his vault. And I'd like to say that I'm also glad he's found two good assistants to help him with his work. Good day to you both."
As they watched the occultist step down to street level and head for the 42nd Street subway entrance, Bane snatched up the now cold remaining cheeseburger and devoured it in nearly a single bite. One price for his enhanced speed was that he was always ravenous. "Whew. That was the worst few minutes I've had in a long time."
"I say, Jeremy, it occurs to me that you handed him fifteen thousand dollars just now."
The grey eyes flashed in her direction, but their anger was not aimed at her. "That was my own money. I ran two blocks over to Key Bank. My account is almost empty again."
"Really? I wouldn't have thought you had saved that much."
Bane frowned and tapped both the real and the fraudulent blasting wands with impatient fingers. "I grew up on the streets. As a kid, I was used to wearing rags, stealing food, sleeping in abandoned buildings. I promised myself that one day I would have money in the bank."
"So you've been putting away as much of what Mr Dred pays you as you can, I quite understand. Jeremy, I'm so sorry. My gift failed me today or I would have warned you."
Standing up, gathering both the genuine and the spurious talismans, the Dire Wolf scowled down at them before trusting himself to speak calmly. "I try not to ask you for favors, Katherine, but I need one now. Don't tell Mr Dred how I was swindled. We'll give him the real Darthan wand but we don't need to mention the fake."
"I don't know about that," she objected. "We've always been honest with each other on this team. I can't see Mr Dred holding what happened this day against you. None of us are infallible."
"It's not that! I know he would insist on reimbursing me for the money I lost. I don't want that. It was my own stupid mistake and I need to deal with it myself."
A sudden uneasiness crept into Katherine's awareness as she heard the iron in his voice. "Jeremy, what are you planning?"
"Nothing lethal. Nothing vindictive," said the Dire Wolf. "But I swear I am going to get my money back from that con man and he will regret he ever met me."
III.
After Kenneth Dred had taken the elevator back up to his bedroom on the third floor, Jeremy Bane visibly relaxed. He was holding the authentic Darthan blasting wand under his arm. "Now I have to lock this away in the vault, come with me."
Standing closer to him than usual, Katherine allowed a wry little half-smile on her face. "I have never seen you so distressed, Jeremy. It makes you seem so much more human." She pressed a reassuring hand high up on his back and added, "Sometimes I forget you're barely twenty-one. You're so darn serious all the time."
Bane made no comment. He entered the huge walk-in closet beside the front door of Dred's building, slid hanging coats to one side and opened a locked panel in its rear wall. With Katherine close behind him, he trotted down concrete steps to the basement level. There was the water heater, the oil-burning furnace and the emergency generator. After them came a narrow walkway with wooden shelves on either side. Facing each other were two massive doors of cold iron with Eldaran sigils fastened over their top rims.
Next to the handle was a modern keypad and he tapped in a lengthy code. "I think you're the fourth person Mr Dred has allowed to even know about this vault, let alone see it get opened."
"That's flattering," Katherine said, staying well back as the Dire Wolf swung the massive door open and flicked on a single light bulb high up by the ceiling. "But still I would just as soon not go in that beastly room."
The rough unfunished stone walls were crowded with rude wooden shelves, and many items were simply sitting on the floor. The longer Katherine peered over Bane's shoulder, the more she was unnerved by what she saw in there. A chamois bag of Cyrinkyl, 'star-snow.'The cursed sword Hellspawn. The blue ceramic jar known as the Collector of Souls. The Brand of Submission, a dozen Zhune artifacts of the lost science from that ancient land, a Kulan-summoning pendant. The Spiked Gauntlet. Two upright Mummy cases nailed shut, jeweled chalices and plain clay goblets, a row of horned human skulls behind glass casing, some crumbling sea trunks piled atop each other. Hanging from nails on the walls were several wavy-bladed daggers, a crudely hammered iron crown, a heavy robe of brown burlap stained with blood around a ragged hole.
Casually as if tossing an umbrella into a closet, Bane placed the blasting wand on top of a shelf, turned off the light and secured the door again. "I've got the fake hidden up in my room," he told her. "I suppose I'll have to take it apart and get rid of the scraps soon. Anyway. I'm taking the Chevy, Katherine. I don't know when I'll be back."
"When WE'LL be back, you mean. I'm going with you."
There was no warmth in his voice at all. "This is personal business. It's not something Mr Dred has asked you to do, it's got nothing to do with you."
"Oh, I think it does. You get a mite too casual about causing mayhem and carnage, lad. That awful old man may have conned you and walked off with your money, but still, I don't want to read about his body being found in some back alley tomorrow."
"What are you talking about? I'm not going to KILL him. Give me some credit, Katherine." He started to move further along the walkway toward the building's tiny underground garage but she stepped directly into his path.
"Steady on, Jeremy," she said firmly. "I don't speak up when you mow down the creatures of the night, but I draw the line at thrashing some middle-aged grifter. I'm going with you to act as, well, a voice of moderation."
Bane saw her eyes unflinchingly meet his. She wasn't intimidated. Finally, he nodded in surrender. "You're wrong about me, I have no intention of hurting that crook. Not physically. I was going to scare the hell out of him but I guess I can do that as well with you along."
"That's as gracious as you ever get, sad to say," she replied. "I really should start dating, most men would be glad to have my company."
He made no comment but headed down the walkway and through a plain wooden door into the garage. There would have been room to fit two cars, but only the two-year-old Chevrolet Caprice sat there now, a deep maroon four-door sedan kept finely tuned. "I should tell Mr Dred we're going back out," he announced glumly.
"Allow me." Katherine picked up the handset of the wall phone and rang the number of Dred's bedroom on the third floor. She spoke briefly, saying only that she and Bane would be out making the rounds of Bane's unsavory friends and asking if he wanted them to pick up anything. As she hung up, she smiled. "We should check in around six o'clock so he knows we're all right. That's all."
Bane started up the big sedan without opening the passenger door for her, but Katherine had quite given up on teaching him any etiquette. Secretly, she thought of him as a sort of feral child who had grown up in alleys and back streets rather than some jungle. They rolled up the steep ramp with its sharp turn and came out on Lexington Avenue.
The next five hours were not so much unpleasant for Katherine as weirdly fascinating. Bane went all over Times Square, up to the lower edge of Harlem and then down into Chinatown, parking wherever he spotted an opening. He strode into seedy bars, pawnbrokers, antique and curio shops, one doctor's office and one storefront free legal firm. Katherine followed him meekly. A colorful assortment of borderline underworld types, some quite frightening-looking, greeted Bane and listened to his description of the man who had posed as Josiah Vandersanden. Several informed him that the man sounded like a lifetime grifter known as Doc Valentine.
After checking in with Kenneth Dred at a corner phone booth, Katherine stopped Bane before getting back in the car. "Jeremy, as fascinating as your acquaintances are, I should like to pause for a moment. Tell me, what do you know about Doc Valentine?"
"Not much more than the name," Bane snorted. He gave her a thoughtful look, then continued, "I know I should be more polite. It doesn't come easy to me. Okay, Doc Valentine? I've never had to deal with him but he has a slippery reputation. Been around for years. Pulls con games, not above burglary or picking a few pockets but he mostly talks people out of their dough. Like he did to me."
Katherine tilted her head as she caught a glimpse of Bane's inner thoughts. Usually, his mind was so tightly wound and defensive that it remained opaque to her telepathy but sometimes thoughts slipped out. The Dire Wolf was not completely furious at being swindled but somehow amused by the experience. He seemed to respect a trickster who was good at the game. "Where to next, lad?"
"It's actually close enough to walk," he said and, at those words, Katherine seized his arm with both hands.
"A little slower, please. Not everyone can do the hundred yard dash in half the official record time," she teased him. Even with her holding his arm, Bane set off at a brisker pace than she would have liked. Five blocks south found them in Little Italy, where the sidewalks were crowded with makeshift stalls selling fresh fruit and vegetables. As they paused at a crosswalks, she said, "There's some lovely greens and quite inexpensive. We should shop here."
The Dire Wolf seemed not to hear her remark. He pointed at a little bistro with the words COFFEE INTERNATIONAL in blue script across its window. On either side of the front door were two green wooden benches and on one of them sat a man in a full monsignor's outfit, complete with flat-brimmed hat. When this man spotted Bane approaching, he sat up straighter and took a deep drag on his cigarette. Seeing Katherine, he stood up and tipped his hat with old school courtesy before settling back down.
"Hello, Vincenzo," Bane said, standing in front of the man. "This is my partner Katherine, also working for Kenneth Dred. This is Father Vincenzo Salvucci. He's a sort of special investigator for the Vatican."
"How are you doing, eh?" asked the man with a heavy but pleasant Italian accent. He seemed to be about thirty, with a thick brush mustache and longish straight black hair that reached past his collar. Dark sunglasses added to the dramatic first impression he made. "At's-a true enough, the Cardinals send me wherever the unfortunate creatures of the night are out and about. Now, I'm not a two-fisted man of action like our friend the Dire Wolf, you understand. All I do is gather information and make my report back to Rome."
"A secret agent priest, how remarkable." Katherine's subdued smile did not falter as she picked up echoes of the bitter conflict boiling within this man's mind. He was strugging to reconcile what he was compelled to do and his own deep-seated instincts. There was intense self-reproach and even self-hatred behind that bland face.
Salvucci finished his cigarette and ground it out underfoot. "I actually owe Jeremy a big debt, sweetheart. Against nosferatu, what you call vampires, I'm-a pretty good. I carry a silver crucifix with an ivory figure of Our Lord, my rosary has been blessed and I have a special dispensation to use holy water. But werewolves don't care about any of that. You wave a crucifix at a werewolf, he will just eat your face right off your skull anyway, you know?"
"Inconsiderate brutes," Katherine said, completely deadpan.
"So this was a few months ago, early summer and I am running through the woods up in White Plains with this howler big as a grizzly bear right behind me. His breath is hot on the back of my neck, you know? I am wondering how much it will hurt when he starts ripping me up when a-suddenly something tackles the monster and they go rolling head over heels on the ground."
Katherine glanced over at Bane, who did not seem interested in the story.
Father Salvucci continued, "And then after it seemed I was not going to have a heart attack, I calmed down enough to realize it was Jeremy here, cleaning his two silver daggers. He's like a buzzsaw on two legs. And not only wouldn't he take any sort of money out of gratitude, he asks me never to tell anyone about it, how you like that? The boy is modest, you know?"
The Dire Wolf saw them both staring at him. "What? I never told you or Mr Dred about that howler because it was over and done with. I'm not in this business for applause. Amyway, Vincezo, I'm glad I caught you here. You keep your ears open. Where can I find Doc Valentine?"
"That crook? He's il truffatore, you know? He'll steal your wedding ring if you shake hands, I'm telling you cause I know." Salvucci took a gunmetal cigarette case from an inner pocket and lit another cigarette. "Better to stay on the other side of the street from a cheat like that."
Seeing that the priest had moved over on the bench, Katherine decided to sit down herself. At this point, she was better at picking up emotions and attitudes than reading clear coherent thoughts. Kenneth Dred had promised that in a few months she would be able to follow a person's mental processes accurately and eventually be able to dig through their memories without alerting them, but that would require patience and practice. Telepathy was not developed easily. She was beginning to wonder why Father Vincenzo Salvucci was so deeply unhappy just beneath that placid exterior.
"That's my worry," Bane said to Salvucci. "Where can I find Valentine?"
"I'll have to take you there, it's not open to the public. You have a car, no?"
"Yeah, come on. Let's get this over with." Bane backed up and waited for the two to rise before heading back to where he had parked the Caprice. Behind the men, Katherine Wheatley felt a surge of alarm run cold through her mind. She had picked up something new from Salvucci... mortal fear.
IV.
It was getting darker and chillier as the three of them left Dred's car near the corner of Ninth Avenue and 118th Street.
In the doorway of a long-closed department store, half a dozen young black men swung around at the approach of possible prey, but suddenly became preoccupied with looking the other way and acting unconcerned over the three people walking past.
"Those fellas seem a little bit intimidated for some reason," Father Salvucci muttered under his breath.
"They know me," said Bane as a simple statement without boastfulness. "That looks like the club you were telling us about."
Across the side street stood an ancient brownstone building that should have been condemned if it hadn't already been, with many windows boarded over and signs of fire damage on the roof. A large picture window on the edge facing the street had been painted black, there was nothing identifying the location in any way except for a huge beefy blond man with the sleeves torn off his denim jacket to reveal hard biceps. A drooping mustache adorned a weathered acne-scarred face that scowled at the entire world with a grudge.
Before the crossed over toward that uninviting location, Salvucci came to a halt. "Wait a minute, okay? Lemme collect myself."
"There's something you're dying to tell us," Katherine prompted him. "A warning of some sort. You had best come right out with it, Father."
"You ARE acting jumpy," added Bane. "Come on, what's eating you?"
"I... uh, I can't let you kids go in there like this. It's too dangerous in there. Not just some tough guys who want a fight, and not just some Mafioso types either, but real genuine wickedness like normal people never meet."
The Dire Wolf glanced over at where the guard at the door was glaring ferociously at them. "All I care about is whether Doc Valentine is in there."
"As far as I know, he is. But he's associating with, I don't know how to say, by this freaks who look like a walking dead. He's-a got skull for faces."
"Oh, one of the Nekrosim! Great, I always like tangling with those guys." He tugged at Salvucc's arm so forcefully that the priest lurched half off his feet.
"No, no, wait, your friend here, Miss Katherine, at least let's leave her in the car with the doors locked and ready to drive away," Salvucci pleaded.
Katherine made a scoffing sound and stepped off the curb. "Please. I have the best bodyguard alive standing right here. Don't let's delay any longer, Father."
The priest visibly sagged and gave in. "Lemme give him the phrase, okay, but I'm not happy about this."
They approached the giant guarding the door and Father Salvucci said, "What is the experience that comes last?" The guard gave them a final hateful stare but pulled down the handle and swung the door open for them. Bane went first, as boldly as if entering a picnic area, with Katherine and Salvucci right behind them.
An overheated, even stuffy room awaited them. lit by red bulbs high in the ceiling. Widely separated round wooden tables dotted the sawdust-strewn floor, with two of them occupied by men playing cards. A haze of smoke hung in the air, barely stirred by an indifferent ceiling fan which barely turned, and its odor won against the stink of spilled beer and liquor with an added tang of vomit which had been mopped up using Lysol.
At the nearest table, two grizzled men wearing work clothes were staring intently at their cards as if somehow their gazes could change them. Facing them was the infamous Doc Valentine, gloating over the largest stack of chips. At his right hand was a tumbler and an empty Duggan's Dew 100 Proof Gin bottle and a remarkably odious cigar dangled recklessly from his mouth as he spoke. "Your suspicions are unworthy of you, gentlemen, surely you watched me shuffle and deal, so no base chicanery was possible..." Then he saw their eyes move up past him and he turned around in his chair.
Seeing Jeremy Bane advancing grimly toward him seemed to trigger near cardiac arrest in Doc Valentine, who sat up so sharply that his straw hat fell off his head entirely. "Shitake Mushrooms!" he squawked, "They'll let any riff-raff in here these days!"
"He sure looks ticked off at you," laughed one of the card players.
Reaching the table, the young Dire Wolf positioned himself between Doc Valentine and the door. His voice was no more sullen than it always was. "Give it back."
"You seem to have mistaken me for an identical stranger, my boy," the old reprobate said. "Polkinghorn is the name, Obadiah Polkinghorn, just in from Philadelphia and glad to be away from there."
Bane said nothing further, made no threatening gesture and did not change his expression but something innately threatening in his presence alarmed the other two poker players. They scooped up their chips and grabbed their coats from the backs of their chairs, racing for the door as if the fire alarm had gone off. A minute later, the players at the other table followed, one of them muttering, "It IS him, I tell ya, I heard stories about that kid...
For her part, Katherine stepped back and extended her awareness, in a sense listening intently with her mind. Deceit and deception hung around her immediate surroundings but there was something much worse nearby. Cruelty and cunning, sharp as the edge of a blade. There. Behind that door opening in the corner...
Doc Valentine had pushed his chair back a few inches, sputtering regrets that his aging bladder needed to be emptied. Before he could rise, a lean hand clenched the material of his shirt. Using only one arm, Bane smoothly lifted the heavy bulk up off the stained floor entirely so Valentine's feet dangled free. More, he held the old grifter up like that without noticeable strain.
"SOMEone has been spending time at the gym," remarked Doc Valentine with remarkable presence of mind. "Perhaps my partner in today's enterprise is equally impressed."
Turning only his head, the Dire Wolf stayed motionless. In the open doorway thirty feet away, a grotesque man aimed an old-fashioned Mauser pistol directly at him.
V.
"I see you remember me," chuckled the Nekrosan. Yorick's face was a nearly fleshless nightmare without any hair, not even eyebrows. Like all his Race, his head closely resembled a skull tautly covered with dry yellowish skin, the nose a mere stub with two nostrils, the mouth a wide slash. A prominent brow ledge stood out over two deepset black-irised eyes which regarded Bane's glare without perturbation. "But then I do make quite the impression."
"Yorick..." Slowly, Bane lowered Doc Valentine back down so the con man's feet were flat on the floor again.
"Do not release him!" snapped the Nekrosan. "That's right, I like seeing one of your hands occupied. It has not been long since we first met, has it? Five or six months at the most. The night you killed my precious Growler. You have been certainly busy. The name Dire Wolf is mentioned constantly in the Midnight War."
Keeping his free hand in plain sight, Bane shifted his weight almost imperceptibly so that he would be freer to move in any direction. "It was you, then. You gave this grifter the fake Darthan wand? Just for the money?"
"Stay still, young man," Yorick ordered. "Ralston will coming inside in a second to help secure you. Heh. A few thousand dollars is always handy, Dire Wolf, but you are the real prize, you and your pretty little friend there."
"I fell hard for the scam, I admit it. You knew I would come looking for Doc Valentine to get my money back. And only Father Salvucci here knew where he would be. So, Vinenzo, you're working for this monster too, right?"
"I'm-a not happy about it, Jeremy, but times are tough and I been how you say compromised."
"After Jeremy saved your life, too," added Katherine in her most scornful tone. "How you can wear the collar is beyond me, Father."
"Enough of that," snapped Yorick. "You children will remain as my guests until Kenneth Dred hands over some of the more useful talismans I know he is hoarding. The sword Hellspawn alone will sell for enough Human money to make me a baron in my home realm. I also covet one of the Eldar travel crystals. Dred will part with a few trinkets to keep you two alive. It's known he thinks the world of you both."
"Dream on," Bane growled, but as he started to release his grip on Valentine's shirtfront, he was stopped by Yorick's extending his Mauser arm to full length.
"All right, Salvucci," the skull-faced man ordered. "Very slowly and carefully, get behind the Dire Wolf. He carries a revolver behind his left hip under that jacket. Not a flicker of movement from you, son, or I will have to start shooting. I was a marksman with Human firearms before you born."
"My heart is sick," Father Salvucci said, moving in close behind Bane. "Believe me, I didn't think it would come to this."
"Save it," the Dire Wolf said. "I'll take care of you before this is all over."
Gingerly as if trying to take something from in front of a rattlesnake, the priest pulled the .38 Smith and Wesson from its belt holster but suddenly thrust the gun into Bane's free hand and leaped back so far he fell to the floor. Without an perceptible hesitation, the Dire Wolf loosed two lightning-quick shots that detonated like thunder in the enclosed room. Slapping a hand to the center of his chest, Yorick whispered something no one could hear and sank to his knees, then toppled over to the floor. His own gun slid away from limp fingers.
With the crashing of those two shots, the guard rushed in from outside. "Hey, boss...!" But he stopped abruptly as he saw the muzzle of that revolver staring at like a dark unblinking eye. "Whoa, whoa, I'm unarmed, mister."
"Down on your knees. Hands clasped behind your head," ordered Bane. "Ralston's your name, right? Any more of these jokers with skull faces around?"
"Yeah, yeah, the boss has two helpers. They're not here right now. He brought them from whatever country they come from." The big bruiser was still tense and visibly shaking, but he seemed to be starting to hope he might survive."
"All right. Here's what you're going to do, Ralston," Bane said. "When the other Nekrosim return, they need to haul Yorick's carcass back to Perjena with them. Tell them it's not healthy for their Race to show up in New York. This is my town. Tell them that."
"Yeah, yeah, sure. Whatever you say."
Tugging free of Bane's loosened grasp, Doc Valentine drawled, "Grateful as I am for your liberating me from the captivity of that fiend, I believe I will be going about my business now..."
But, without taking his eyes off the kneeling thug, Bane clamped his free hand on Doc Valentine's wide rounded shoulder with a painfully sharp grip. "Not so fast. Hand my partner my money, every dollar. Katherine, I want you to count it."
Despite much reluctance and whining from the old reprobate, all but seventy dollars were recovered. "I did partake of a hearty meal to calm my nerves, my boy."
Bane accepted the bank envelope from Katherine and tucked it away into an inside pocket of his jacket. "I guess that will have to do. All right, Valentine or whatever your real name is, don't get in my line of sight again. You'll be safer that way, get me?"
"Indubitably, quite so. My chagrin knows no bounds."
Katherine suddenly spoke up for the first time since the action had erupted. "This other one is the scoundrel who offends me most. I was brought up Protestant but we were taught to respect priests. I'm genuinely furious with you, Father."
That brought an unpleasant chuckle from Doc Valentine. "Vinnie? He's no priest. He's not even Italian. He's Vince Laughlin from White Plains. He plays that role as part of his street persona."
"What?!" Despite her outrage, Katherine suddenly understood why the so-called Father had been so unhasppy about the whole dismal situation that day. "And how do you know he's a fake?"
Lighting a fresh cigarette, Father Vincenzo Salvucci nee Vince Laughlin took a deep drag. "Oh, we're in the same profesion," he said without a trace of that accent. "Game recognizes game."
7/31/2022
11/13/1977
I.
"Ah, the English rose in early bloom," whined a nasal voice from right behind her.
Utterly surprised, Katherine Wheatley gave a start and whirled around. Was her telepathy failing her? How had this unimposing old man gotten up close enough to touch her without her detecting his mind? And why even now was she not picking up any thoughts at all from him? It was as alarming to her as suddenly going deaf would have been.
The man's apparent age and waistline were both about sixty, but at least he was reasonably well dressed in a lightweight white summer suit with a polka-dot bow tie that had been loosely knotted. He lifted an old-fashioned straw hat off thinning whitish blond hair and leered at her in a remarkably unsavory manner. Dominating his face was a bulbous nose as round and red as a tomato. "Forgive me if I startled you, my little crocus, but I seldom spy such a fair flower from the fair islands."
Even more perplexed, Katherine could not stop from asking, "How do you know I'm English? I didn't say anything."
"It is written on your piquant little face, sweetheart. Those cornflower blue eyes like gems catching the light, long straight hair as ebon as the raven wings of night, lips that curl up at the corners as if waiting for a chance to smile..."
"Oh, fuss and bother," she interrupted. Katherine was reassured that she was still picking up stray thoughts from the all the people going up and down the sidewalk outside Bryant Park, right behind the Public Library. Nothing was wrong with her gift, her telepathy was still functional but she could not pick up anything from this strange old man at all. This had never happened to her before. She was wearing a pleated skirt with her light maroon windbreaker and it wasn't reassuring how he was studying her slender legs with an interest not entirely avuncular. "Can I help you somehow or are you only remembering what it was like to flirt with teenage girls?"
"Zooks, you wound me to my very pith," he responded, twirling his hat and tossing it up behind him to catch it with his other hand. "I do believe I am the gentleman you are waiting here to meet. My name is Josiah Vandersanden. Mr Kenneth Dred has expressed interest in purchasing a rare item in my possession." Saying that, he held up a thin cylinder two feet long that had been neatly wrapped in brown paper.
Katherine raised one eyebrow, still worried about not being able to get a glimpse into this man's mind. Since early adolescence when her gift had first manifested, she had never had her telepathy fail her before. "Ah. Sorry to be so curt. My partner should be arriving directly, Mr Vandersanden, I was supposed to meet you here in case Jeremy was delayed..."
The old reprobate's response was cut short as they both spotted a thin young man in black striding across 42nd Street as if all the moving cars had paused for him. Jeremy Bane walked faster than most people could run. When he picked up speed as now, his movements seemed slightly unreal in their quickness. He was up on the sidewalk next to them before his arrival could quite register.
Barely twenty-one but already well-known in the Midnight War, the young Dire Wolf was wearing his trademark outfit of black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket which made him seem even more gaunt than he was. A narrow feral face and pale grey eyes under heavy black brows gave him a striking appearance. "Katherine. I got here as soon as I could. You must be the Vandersanden that we were supposed to meet?"
"Hullo, Jeremy. Yes. This is Jeremy Bane, he also works for Mr Dred and he is the one authorized to make the payment."
Vandersanden's extended palm was met with an unfriendly glare. "Let's see this blasting wand first, okay?"
"Of course, of course," the old man immediately replied. "Yet perhaps this trinket is best not glimpsed by the unwashed hordes of New Yorkers. Shall we find a table to seat ourselves?"
Along that wall of the park, two rows of booths faced each other across a paved promenade. Everything from tourist-oriented T-shirts and posters, scented candles and jewelry were available but the booths mostly hawked a wide variety of food. On this chilly dank November day, the area was not as packed as it normally was. The three of them found an unclaimed wrought iron table and dropped down into chairs designed to be uncomfortable so that people would not loiter but make way for more paying customers.
Bane was visibly reluctant to sit down. Katherine was used to the way he always tried to have a solid wall at his back, but in this case the best he could manage was to have to have the side of a booth behind him. She seated herself facing him so that she could keep an eye on anyone approaching from that direction and gave him a reassuring nod.
Watching Vandersanden place his bundle on the table, the Dire Wolf said nothing until the wrapping paper had been torn away. Revealed was a cylinder of dark coppery metal, shorter and thinner than a human forearm, with esoteric symbols etched into the surface. Capping one end was a faceted green gem.
"Crafted by those abominable Darthim on the island of Maroch itself," drawled Vandersanden. "In the hands of one who can wrest control of its magick, this wand can blow a hole through a brick wall you can poke your arm through. To be quite honest, it's rather like walking around with an unexploded bomb to carry this vile device."
Running his fingers along the rod, Bane made a satisfied sound. "Warm to the touch. What would you say the temperature is today, Katherine?"
"Forty at best, Fahrenheit that is," she said. "I do wish I had chosen a heavier jacket."
"And this talisman feels to be at body temperature. That's a sign it's genuine. All right. Mr Dred has authorized me to pay you this. Fifteen thousand dollars."
Accepting the thick business envelope, Vandersander riffled through the bills critically. "Crisp and fresh as autumn leaves underfoot. Well, young fellow, I believe we are both better off after this exchange."
"I can write a receipt if you want," Bane said, already tightening the wrapping paper up around the metal cylinder again.
"Sir! A gentleman's word is ironclad enough. A firm clasp of honest hands should suffice." Hauling himself up to his feet, Vandersanden extended his right hand, which Bane obligingly shook. Then, tipping his hat at Katherine, he waddled briskly away in the sparse crowd.
"There's a booth on the corner," Bane said. "We'll phone Mr Dred and report. But as long as we're here, we might as well grab some food."
Katherine gave a pleasant chuckle at his enthusiasm. "I swear, you have the metabolism of a hummingbird, Jeremy. If I ate as much each day as you, I believe I would weigh three hundred pounds, but certainly, I am a bit peckish. Bring me a smaller serving of whatever you are having."
"There's cheeseburgers on a grill right opposite us," Bane said as he rose. "Three for me, one for you. Keep an eye on this wand, though."
"Of course." Left for a second by herself, Katherine leaned forward curiously to stare at the end of the Darthan talisman protruding from the rewrapped package. That was curious. She picked it up, holding it closer and suddenly twisted the end counter-clockwise.
Holding a cardboard tray with their burgers, Jeremy Bane froze in mid-step. "What the hell?"
"Oh my goodness, it's a fake. Look at this. This is why it's warm!" The telepath held out her open hand and caught two D-sized batteries falling from inside the tube. "It's got wires inside that heat up."
Visibly shaken for the first time since she had met him half a year earlier, the Dire Wolf fell onto his chair. "He suckered me. And I fell for it."
Their dazed state only lasted for a second longer, because a heavyset man wearing a full-length winter coat approached them. He was holding a canvas bag the same general size at the phony talisman. "Jeremy Bane, I take it?" he asked cheerfully. "Vandersanden here, Josiah Vandersanden. I'm here to do business."
II.
Bane vaulted to his feet so violently that Vandersanden stepped back. "How could I have been so stupid?" he growled. "The greenest tourist wouldn't fall for such a scam!"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Not you. No, it's something else. Listen, I have to go but I'll be back in ten minutes at the most. Mr Vandersanden, would you please wait here with my friend Katherine?" Snatching up two of the cheeseburgers, the young Dire Wolf sprinted off into a crowd that parted in alarm at his hurtling form.
"I'm at a loss, I must admit."
Katherine Wheatley admitted she was not quite as quick-thinking in a stressful situation as Bane, but she had gotten her bearings. She gave the middle-aged occultist her most ingratiating smile. "Won't you please have a seat? I'm sure he will not be gone long. Perhaps you would like a cheeseburger?" she added, seeing that Bane had left two on the table.
"Thank you, no. That was extraordinary. Is that fellow an Olympic track star or something? I've never seen anyone run so fast."
"Jeremy is quite nimble," she replied, taking a small ladylike bite of her own burger.
"And what is this on the table?"
"You know the Midnight War. For every real mystic talisman, there are a dozen frauds."
Lightly skimming the surface of Vandersanden's mind, she picked up on his delight at having a pretty young woman to talk with. He seemed quite willing to sit there for a while. Between bites of the burger, she ventured, "I understand you've known Mr Dred for some time?"
"You could say so, miss. We used to be quite close years ago, we did some exploring in adjacent realms where no Humans have gone before us. But we had a bit of a falling out. Shame, really. We've moved past that to the point where we will cooperate with each other, but I don't think I'd feel comfortable actually facing Kenneth again."
"I quite understand," she said. "Former friends do stir up awkward emotions. Let me ask, if I may be so bold, is there anything you would like me to relay to him?"
"Just good wishes, I suppose," Vandersanden sighed. "I'm curious about you. Katherine Wheatley, right? Midnight War gossip says you're staying with Kenneth as a sort of aide."
"True enough. He IS nearly eighty, you know. I'm glad to run various errands and do some shopping for Mr Dred. He's certainly shown me a secret world that's going on unsuspected all around us." She saw no reason to add that Dred was training her in how to refine and expand her gift. Her telepathy was something she had only revealed to a handful of people and she wanted to stay discreet about it.
"Yes. And your partner there, the Dire Wolf as he's called? There are wild rumors about him."
Katherine could not hide her grin. She finished her cheeseburger and dabbed at her mouth with a paper napkin before saying, "I should think those rumors are understatements."
At that exact second, the young man in black trotted up and threw himself onto the empty chair. "Sorry about that, sir. It couldn't be helped." He showed a yellow bank envelope before tucking it back into his inside jacket pocket. "Let's have a look at this Darthan talisman, then."
The difference was startling. When Vandersanden unwrapped the blasting wand, its metal showed a lurid ruddy sheen even in the drab winter light. The green gem flickered with sparks and glints within its depths. Not merely warm to the touch as the fake had been, contact with the genuine sigil stung uncomfortably. Jeremy Bane examined the object for a few minutes, then glanced over at his partner. "What do you think?"
"All my instincts say to go with it," she said. Both of them knew she meant her telepathic contact had confirmed that this was indeed the real Josiah Vandersanden and that his mind knew the Darthan talisman was both genuine and incredibly dangerous.
"I've learned to trust your judgement. Here you go, Mr Vandersanden." As Bane handed over the bank envelope, his face tightened into more surly lines than usual.
"Well, I'm satisfied," Vandersanden said after briefly thumbing through the money. He got to his feet and exhaled with relief. "Please tell Kenneth that I'm glad this damned thing will be going into his vault. And I'd like to say that I'm also glad he's found two good assistants to help him with his work. Good day to you both."
As they watched the occultist step down to street level and head for the 42nd Street subway entrance, Bane snatched up the now cold remaining cheeseburger and devoured it in nearly a single bite. One price for his enhanced speed was that he was always ravenous. "Whew. That was the worst few minutes I've had in a long time."
"I say, Jeremy, it occurs to me that you handed him fifteen thousand dollars just now."
The grey eyes flashed in her direction, but their anger was not aimed at her. "That was my own money. I ran two blocks over to Key Bank. My account is almost empty again."
"Really? I wouldn't have thought you had saved that much."
Bane frowned and tapped both the real and the fraudulent blasting wands with impatient fingers. "I grew up on the streets. As a kid, I was used to wearing rags, stealing food, sleeping in abandoned buildings. I promised myself that one day I would have money in the bank."
"So you've been putting away as much of what Mr Dred pays you as you can, I quite understand. Jeremy, I'm so sorry. My gift failed me today or I would have warned you."
Standing up, gathering both the genuine and the spurious talismans, the Dire Wolf scowled down at them before trusting himself to speak calmly. "I try not to ask you for favors, Katherine, but I need one now. Don't tell Mr Dred how I was swindled. We'll give him the real Darthan wand but we don't need to mention the fake."
"I don't know about that," she objected. "We've always been honest with each other on this team. I can't see Mr Dred holding what happened this day against you. None of us are infallible."
"It's not that! I know he would insist on reimbursing me for the money I lost. I don't want that. It was my own stupid mistake and I need to deal with it myself."
A sudden uneasiness crept into Katherine's awareness as she heard the iron in his voice. "Jeremy, what are you planning?"
"Nothing lethal. Nothing vindictive," said the Dire Wolf. "But I swear I am going to get my money back from that con man and he will regret he ever met me."
III.
After Kenneth Dred had taken the elevator back up to his bedroom on the third floor, Jeremy Bane visibly relaxed. He was holding the authentic Darthan blasting wand under his arm. "Now I have to lock this away in the vault, come with me."
Standing closer to him than usual, Katherine allowed a wry little half-smile on her face. "I have never seen you so distressed, Jeremy. It makes you seem so much more human." She pressed a reassuring hand high up on his back and added, "Sometimes I forget you're barely twenty-one. You're so darn serious all the time."
Bane made no comment. He entered the huge walk-in closet beside the front door of Dred's building, slid hanging coats to one side and opened a locked panel in its rear wall. With Katherine close behind him, he trotted down concrete steps to the basement level. There was the water heater, the oil-burning furnace and the emergency generator. After them came a narrow walkway with wooden shelves on either side. Facing each other were two massive doors of cold iron with Eldaran sigils fastened over their top rims.
Next to the handle was a modern keypad and he tapped in a lengthy code. "I think you're the fourth person Mr Dred has allowed to even know about this vault, let alone see it get opened."
"That's flattering," Katherine said, staying well back as the Dire Wolf swung the massive door open and flicked on a single light bulb high up by the ceiling. "But still I would just as soon not go in that beastly room."
The rough unfunished stone walls were crowded with rude wooden shelves, and many items were simply sitting on the floor. The longer Katherine peered over Bane's shoulder, the more she was unnerved by what she saw in there. A chamois bag of Cyrinkyl, 'star-snow.'The cursed sword Hellspawn. The blue ceramic jar known as the Collector of Souls. The Brand of Submission, a dozen Zhune artifacts of the lost science from that ancient land, a Kulan-summoning pendant. The Spiked Gauntlet. Two upright Mummy cases nailed shut, jeweled chalices and plain clay goblets, a row of horned human skulls behind glass casing, some crumbling sea trunks piled atop each other. Hanging from nails on the walls were several wavy-bladed daggers, a crudely hammered iron crown, a heavy robe of brown burlap stained with blood around a ragged hole.
Casually as if tossing an umbrella into a closet, Bane placed the blasting wand on top of a shelf, turned off the light and secured the door again. "I've got the fake hidden up in my room," he told her. "I suppose I'll have to take it apart and get rid of the scraps soon. Anyway. I'm taking the Chevy, Katherine. I don't know when I'll be back."
"When WE'LL be back, you mean. I'm going with you."
There was no warmth in his voice at all. "This is personal business. It's not something Mr Dred has asked you to do, it's got nothing to do with you."
"Oh, I think it does. You get a mite too casual about causing mayhem and carnage, lad. That awful old man may have conned you and walked off with your money, but still, I don't want to read about his body being found in some back alley tomorrow."
"What are you talking about? I'm not going to KILL him. Give me some credit, Katherine." He started to move further along the walkway toward the building's tiny underground garage but she stepped directly into his path.
"Steady on, Jeremy," she said firmly. "I don't speak up when you mow down the creatures of the night, but I draw the line at thrashing some middle-aged grifter. I'm going with you to act as, well, a voice of moderation."
Bane saw her eyes unflinchingly meet his. She wasn't intimidated. Finally, he nodded in surrender. "You're wrong about me, I have no intention of hurting that crook. Not physically. I was going to scare the hell out of him but I guess I can do that as well with you along."
"That's as gracious as you ever get, sad to say," she replied. "I really should start dating, most men would be glad to have my company."
He made no comment but headed down the walkway and through a plain wooden door into the garage. There would have been room to fit two cars, but only the two-year-old Chevrolet Caprice sat there now, a deep maroon four-door sedan kept finely tuned. "I should tell Mr Dred we're going back out," he announced glumly.
"Allow me." Katherine picked up the handset of the wall phone and rang the number of Dred's bedroom on the third floor. She spoke briefly, saying only that she and Bane would be out making the rounds of Bane's unsavory friends and asking if he wanted them to pick up anything. As she hung up, she smiled. "We should check in around six o'clock so he knows we're all right. That's all."
Bane started up the big sedan without opening the passenger door for her, but Katherine had quite given up on teaching him any etiquette. Secretly, she thought of him as a sort of feral child who had grown up in alleys and back streets rather than some jungle. They rolled up the steep ramp with its sharp turn and came out on Lexington Avenue.
The next five hours were not so much unpleasant for Katherine as weirdly fascinating. Bane went all over Times Square, up to the lower edge of Harlem and then down into Chinatown, parking wherever he spotted an opening. He strode into seedy bars, pawnbrokers, antique and curio shops, one doctor's office and one storefront free legal firm. Katherine followed him meekly. A colorful assortment of borderline underworld types, some quite frightening-looking, greeted Bane and listened to his description of the man who had posed as Josiah Vandersanden. Several informed him that the man sounded like a lifetime grifter known as Doc Valentine.
After checking in with Kenneth Dred at a corner phone booth, Katherine stopped Bane before getting back in the car. "Jeremy, as fascinating as your acquaintances are, I should like to pause for a moment. Tell me, what do you know about Doc Valentine?"
"Not much more than the name," Bane snorted. He gave her a thoughtful look, then continued, "I know I should be more polite. It doesn't come easy to me. Okay, Doc Valentine? I've never had to deal with him but he has a slippery reputation. Been around for years. Pulls con games, not above burglary or picking a few pockets but he mostly talks people out of their dough. Like he did to me."
Katherine tilted her head as she caught a glimpse of Bane's inner thoughts. Usually, his mind was so tightly wound and defensive that it remained opaque to her telepathy but sometimes thoughts slipped out. The Dire Wolf was not completely furious at being swindled but somehow amused by the experience. He seemed to respect a trickster who was good at the game. "Where to next, lad?"
"It's actually close enough to walk," he said and, at those words, Katherine seized his arm with both hands.
"A little slower, please. Not everyone can do the hundred yard dash in half the official record time," she teased him. Even with her holding his arm, Bane set off at a brisker pace than she would have liked. Five blocks south found them in Little Italy, where the sidewalks were crowded with makeshift stalls selling fresh fruit and vegetables. As they paused at a crosswalks, she said, "There's some lovely greens and quite inexpensive. We should shop here."
The Dire Wolf seemed not to hear her remark. He pointed at a little bistro with the words COFFEE INTERNATIONAL in blue script across its window. On either side of the front door were two green wooden benches and on one of them sat a man in a full monsignor's outfit, complete with flat-brimmed hat. When this man spotted Bane approaching, he sat up straighter and took a deep drag on his cigarette. Seeing Katherine, he stood up and tipped his hat with old school courtesy before settling back down.
"Hello, Vincenzo," Bane said, standing in front of the man. "This is my partner Katherine, also working for Kenneth Dred. This is Father Vincenzo Salvucci. He's a sort of special investigator for the Vatican."
"How are you doing, eh?" asked the man with a heavy but pleasant Italian accent. He seemed to be about thirty, with a thick brush mustache and longish straight black hair that reached past his collar. Dark sunglasses added to the dramatic first impression he made. "At's-a true enough, the Cardinals send me wherever the unfortunate creatures of the night are out and about. Now, I'm not a two-fisted man of action like our friend the Dire Wolf, you understand. All I do is gather information and make my report back to Rome."
"A secret agent priest, how remarkable." Katherine's subdued smile did not falter as she picked up echoes of the bitter conflict boiling within this man's mind. He was strugging to reconcile what he was compelled to do and his own deep-seated instincts. There was intense self-reproach and even self-hatred behind that bland face.
Salvucci finished his cigarette and ground it out underfoot. "I actually owe Jeremy a big debt, sweetheart. Against nosferatu, what you call vampires, I'm-a pretty good. I carry a silver crucifix with an ivory figure of Our Lord, my rosary has been blessed and I have a special dispensation to use holy water. But werewolves don't care about any of that. You wave a crucifix at a werewolf, he will just eat your face right off your skull anyway, you know?"
"Inconsiderate brutes," Katherine said, completely deadpan.
"So this was a few months ago, early summer and I am running through the woods up in White Plains with this howler big as a grizzly bear right behind me. His breath is hot on the back of my neck, you know? I am wondering how much it will hurt when he starts ripping me up when a-suddenly something tackles the monster and they go rolling head over heels on the ground."
Katherine glanced over at Bane, who did not seem interested in the story.
Father Salvucci continued, "And then after it seemed I was not going to have a heart attack, I calmed down enough to realize it was Jeremy here, cleaning his two silver daggers. He's like a buzzsaw on two legs. And not only wouldn't he take any sort of money out of gratitude, he asks me never to tell anyone about it, how you like that? The boy is modest, you know?"
The Dire Wolf saw them both staring at him. "What? I never told you or Mr Dred about that howler because it was over and done with. I'm not in this business for applause. Amyway, Vincezo, I'm glad I caught you here. You keep your ears open. Where can I find Doc Valentine?"
"That crook? He's il truffatore, you know? He'll steal your wedding ring if you shake hands, I'm telling you cause I know." Salvucci took a gunmetal cigarette case from an inner pocket and lit another cigarette. "Better to stay on the other side of the street from a cheat like that."
Seeing that the priest had moved over on the bench, Katherine decided to sit down herself. At this point, she was better at picking up emotions and attitudes than reading clear coherent thoughts. Kenneth Dred had promised that in a few months she would be able to follow a person's mental processes accurately and eventually be able to dig through their memories without alerting them, but that would require patience and practice. Telepathy was not developed easily. She was beginning to wonder why Father Vincenzo Salvucci was so deeply unhappy just beneath that placid exterior.
"That's my worry," Bane said to Salvucci. "Where can I find Valentine?"
"I'll have to take you there, it's not open to the public. You have a car, no?"
"Yeah, come on. Let's get this over with." Bane backed up and waited for the two to rise before heading back to where he had parked the Caprice. Behind the men, Katherine Wheatley felt a surge of alarm run cold through her mind. She had picked up something new from Salvucci... mortal fear.
IV.
It was getting darker and chillier as the three of them left Dred's car near the corner of Ninth Avenue and 118th Street.
In the doorway of a long-closed department store, half a dozen young black men swung around at the approach of possible prey, but suddenly became preoccupied with looking the other way and acting unconcerned over the three people walking past.
"Those fellas seem a little bit intimidated for some reason," Father Salvucci muttered under his breath.
"They know me," said Bane as a simple statement without boastfulness. "That looks like the club you were telling us about."
Across the side street stood an ancient brownstone building that should have been condemned if it hadn't already been, with many windows boarded over and signs of fire damage on the roof. A large picture window on the edge facing the street had been painted black, there was nothing identifying the location in any way except for a huge beefy blond man with the sleeves torn off his denim jacket to reveal hard biceps. A drooping mustache adorned a weathered acne-scarred face that scowled at the entire world with a grudge.
Before the crossed over toward that uninviting location, Salvucci came to a halt. "Wait a minute, okay? Lemme collect myself."
"There's something you're dying to tell us," Katherine prompted him. "A warning of some sort. You had best come right out with it, Father."
"You ARE acting jumpy," added Bane. "Come on, what's eating you?"
"I... uh, I can't let you kids go in there like this. It's too dangerous in there. Not just some tough guys who want a fight, and not just some Mafioso types either, but real genuine wickedness like normal people never meet."
The Dire Wolf glanced over at where the guard at the door was glaring ferociously at them. "All I care about is whether Doc Valentine is in there."
"As far as I know, he is. But he's associating with, I don't know how to say, by this freaks who look like a walking dead. He's-a got skull for faces."
"Oh, one of the Nekrosim! Great, I always like tangling with those guys." He tugged at Salvucc's arm so forcefully that the priest lurched half off his feet.
"No, no, wait, your friend here, Miss Katherine, at least let's leave her in the car with the doors locked and ready to drive away," Salvucci pleaded.
Katherine made a scoffing sound and stepped off the curb. "Please. I have the best bodyguard alive standing right here. Don't let's delay any longer, Father."
The priest visibly sagged and gave in. "Lemme give him the phrase, okay, but I'm not happy about this."
They approached the giant guarding the door and Father Salvucci said, "What is the experience that comes last?" The guard gave them a final hateful stare but pulled down the handle and swung the door open for them. Bane went first, as boldly as if entering a picnic area, with Katherine and Salvucci right behind them.
An overheated, even stuffy room awaited them. lit by red bulbs high in the ceiling. Widely separated round wooden tables dotted the sawdust-strewn floor, with two of them occupied by men playing cards. A haze of smoke hung in the air, barely stirred by an indifferent ceiling fan which barely turned, and its odor won against the stink of spilled beer and liquor with an added tang of vomit which had been mopped up using Lysol.
At the nearest table, two grizzled men wearing work clothes were staring intently at their cards as if somehow their gazes could change them. Facing them was the infamous Doc Valentine, gloating over the largest stack of chips. At his right hand was a tumbler and an empty Duggan's Dew 100 Proof Gin bottle and a remarkably odious cigar dangled recklessly from his mouth as he spoke. "Your suspicions are unworthy of you, gentlemen, surely you watched me shuffle and deal, so no base chicanery was possible..." Then he saw their eyes move up past him and he turned around in his chair.
Seeing Jeremy Bane advancing grimly toward him seemed to trigger near cardiac arrest in Doc Valentine, who sat up so sharply that his straw hat fell off his head entirely. "Shitake Mushrooms!" he squawked, "They'll let any riff-raff in here these days!"
"He sure looks ticked off at you," laughed one of the card players.
Reaching the table, the young Dire Wolf positioned himself between Doc Valentine and the door. His voice was no more sullen than it always was. "Give it back."
"You seem to have mistaken me for an identical stranger, my boy," the old reprobate said. "Polkinghorn is the name, Obadiah Polkinghorn, just in from Philadelphia and glad to be away from there."
Bane said nothing further, made no threatening gesture and did not change his expression but something innately threatening in his presence alarmed the other two poker players. They scooped up their chips and grabbed their coats from the backs of their chairs, racing for the door as if the fire alarm had gone off. A minute later, the players at the other table followed, one of them muttering, "It IS him, I tell ya, I heard stories about that kid...
For her part, Katherine stepped back and extended her awareness, in a sense listening intently with her mind. Deceit and deception hung around her immediate surroundings but there was something much worse nearby. Cruelty and cunning, sharp as the edge of a blade. There. Behind that door opening in the corner...
Doc Valentine had pushed his chair back a few inches, sputtering regrets that his aging bladder needed to be emptied. Before he could rise, a lean hand clenched the material of his shirt. Using only one arm, Bane smoothly lifted the heavy bulk up off the stained floor entirely so Valentine's feet dangled free. More, he held the old grifter up like that without noticeable strain.
"SOMEone has been spending time at the gym," remarked Doc Valentine with remarkable presence of mind. "Perhaps my partner in today's enterprise is equally impressed."
Turning only his head, the Dire Wolf stayed motionless. In the open doorway thirty feet away, a grotesque man aimed an old-fashioned Mauser pistol directly at him.
V.
"I see you remember me," chuckled the Nekrosan. Yorick's face was a nearly fleshless nightmare without any hair, not even eyebrows. Like all his Race, his head closely resembled a skull tautly covered with dry yellowish skin, the nose a mere stub with two nostrils, the mouth a wide slash. A prominent brow ledge stood out over two deepset black-irised eyes which regarded Bane's glare without perturbation. "But then I do make quite the impression."
"Yorick..." Slowly, Bane lowered Doc Valentine back down so the con man's feet were flat on the floor again.
"Do not release him!" snapped the Nekrosan. "That's right, I like seeing one of your hands occupied. It has not been long since we first met, has it? Five or six months at the most. The night you killed my precious Growler. You have been certainly busy. The name Dire Wolf is mentioned constantly in the Midnight War."
Keeping his free hand in plain sight, Bane shifted his weight almost imperceptibly so that he would be freer to move in any direction. "It was you, then. You gave this grifter the fake Darthan wand? Just for the money?"
"Stay still, young man," Yorick ordered. "Ralston will coming inside in a second to help secure you. Heh. A few thousand dollars is always handy, Dire Wolf, but you are the real prize, you and your pretty little friend there."
"I fell hard for the scam, I admit it. You knew I would come looking for Doc Valentine to get my money back. And only Father Salvucci here knew where he would be. So, Vinenzo, you're working for this monster too, right?"
"I'm-a not happy about it, Jeremy, but times are tough and I been how you say compromised."
"After Jeremy saved your life, too," added Katherine in her most scornful tone. "How you can wear the collar is beyond me, Father."
"Enough of that," snapped Yorick. "You children will remain as my guests until Kenneth Dred hands over some of the more useful talismans I know he is hoarding. The sword Hellspawn alone will sell for enough Human money to make me a baron in my home realm. I also covet one of the Eldar travel crystals. Dred will part with a few trinkets to keep you two alive. It's known he thinks the world of you both."
"Dream on," Bane growled, but as he started to release his grip on Valentine's shirtfront, he was stopped by Yorick's extending his Mauser arm to full length.
"All right, Salvucci," the skull-faced man ordered. "Very slowly and carefully, get behind the Dire Wolf. He carries a revolver behind his left hip under that jacket. Not a flicker of movement from you, son, or I will have to start shooting. I was a marksman with Human firearms before you born."
"My heart is sick," Father Salvucci said, moving in close behind Bane. "Believe me, I didn't think it would come to this."
"Save it," the Dire Wolf said. "I'll take care of you before this is all over."
Gingerly as if trying to take something from in front of a rattlesnake, the priest pulled the .38 Smith and Wesson from its belt holster but suddenly thrust the gun into Bane's free hand and leaped back so far he fell to the floor. Without an perceptible hesitation, the Dire Wolf loosed two lightning-quick shots that detonated like thunder in the enclosed room. Slapping a hand to the center of his chest, Yorick whispered something no one could hear and sank to his knees, then toppled over to the floor. His own gun slid away from limp fingers.
With the crashing of those two shots, the guard rushed in from outside. "Hey, boss...!" But he stopped abruptly as he saw the muzzle of that revolver staring at like a dark unblinking eye. "Whoa, whoa, I'm unarmed, mister."
"Down on your knees. Hands clasped behind your head," ordered Bane. "Ralston's your name, right? Any more of these jokers with skull faces around?"
"Yeah, yeah, the boss has two helpers. They're not here right now. He brought them from whatever country they come from." The big bruiser was still tense and visibly shaking, but he seemed to be starting to hope he might survive."
"All right. Here's what you're going to do, Ralston," Bane said. "When the other Nekrosim return, they need to haul Yorick's carcass back to Perjena with them. Tell them it's not healthy for their Race to show up in New York. This is my town. Tell them that."
"Yeah, yeah, sure. Whatever you say."
Tugging free of Bane's loosened grasp, Doc Valentine drawled, "Grateful as I am for your liberating me from the captivity of that fiend, I believe I will be going about my business now..."
But, without taking his eyes off the kneeling thug, Bane clamped his free hand on Doc Valentine's wide rounded shoulder with a painfully sharp grip. "Not so fast. Hand my partner my money, every dollar. Katherine, I want you to count it."
Despite much reluctance and whining from the old reprobate, all but seventy dollars were recovered. "I did partake of a hearty meal to calm my nerves, my boy."
Bane accepted the bank envelope from Katherine and tucked it away into an inside pocket of his jacket. "I guess that will have to do. All right, Valentine or whatever your real name is, don't get in my line of sight again. You'll be safer that way, get me?"
"Indubitably, quite so. My chagrin knows no bounds."
Katherine suddenly spoke up for the first time since the action had erupted. "This other one is the scoundrel who offends me most. I was brought up Protestant but we were taught to respect priests. I'm genuinely furious with you, Father."
That brought an unpleasant chuckle from Doc Valentine. "Vinnie? He's no priest. He's not even Italian. He's Vince Laughlin from White Plains. He plays that role as part of his street persona."
"What?!" Despite her outrage, Katherine suddenly understood why the so-called Father had been so unhasppy about the whole dismal situation that day. "And how do you know he's a fake?"
Lighting a fresh cigarette, Father Vincenzo Salvucci nee Vince Laughlin took a deep drag. "Oh, we're in the same profesion," he said without a trace of that accent. "Game recognizes game."
7/31/2022