Direwolf: Cold Iron & Hot Steel - part 2 "Your man, officers..."
by Direwolf
Direwolf stood in the dimly lit corridor trying to breath through his mouth. This place stank. The reek was a combination of unwashed people, mildewed carpets, old garbage and well-fed rats. This was his first time inside one of the tenements here in the Devil's Kitchen and it wasn't a pleasant experience. As horrible as it was, the realization that people lived out their lives in places like this even here, in Patriot City, was even worse.
The electric lights were long since dark, either stolen, broken or simply never replaced. The only light in the hallway came from the late afternoon sun slanting in the window at the western end of the narrow hall. The one spot of color in the dingy hall was an electric blue slogan spray painted on the wall by the staircase. It read "Cold Iron Rulz" with stylized snowflakes around it. It didn't do much to brighten the place up.
Direwolf shifted on his feet and the worn floor creaked alarmingly under his weight. Jason wondered if at any moment the floor might collapse, dropping him through five floors of decaying building to the ground.
Except for himself, two officers and Sergeant Joe, the place seemed deserted. But Direwolf knew that was just an illusion. He could tell there were people here, hidden behind the doors. In a place like this, no one opened his or her door without a good reason.
On the way over, Joe had explained there were trying to serve an arrest warrant on a character named as Lewes Olsen who was wanted in five states for a string of crimes including three homicides and over a dozen armed robberies. Lewes liked to knock over grocery stores and didn't seem too concerned about bystanders getting hurt. Several sources had told the police that Lewes was holed up here, in the tenement so the men of the 16th had the task of bringing him in.
Joe had admitted that considering the list of crimes Lewis was wanted for, that no one would have blamed the 16th if they asked for help from the FBI, Federal Marshals or even one of the other Patriot City precincts. But Joe had been reluctant to do so. Calling in the Feds would take time and Olsen was known to be highly mobile. And while asking for other police backup would be quick, it would also send a message that the 16th couldn't really do its job. And morale was low enough already. Since Direwolf was an outsider, he wouldn't be seen as a rival.
At least, that was the theory.
What passed for the building manager downstairs had confirmed their quarry (or someone fitting his description) was in room 517. One officer had been left with the manager to make sure word didn't get up to room 517 if the phones were working. Two other officers were watching the back in case Olsen made a break for it. Officers Dunlevy and Reynolds were flanking the door while Joe and Direwolf backed them up.
Each of the cops had a service revolver in hand and Dunlevy and Reynolds were communicating via hand gestures. Direwolf felt useless. The police officers knew what they were doing and seemed to have the situation well under control. He felt like a spectator.
"Well, maybe I'll learn something by watching the pros," he thought.
Reynolds pointed to the door, held up his free hand and counted down the fingers. At five, Dunlevy pounded on the door with her fist.
"Patriot City Police! Open up!" she shouted, the sound echoing hollowly through the hall.
There was no answer as time trickled past. Direwolf heard faint movement beyond the door. Reynolds took a position in front of the door, and readied his shoulder to break it in. Something on the edge of hearing alerted Direwolf. He flowed into action.
For the first time, Joe Wojosky saw just what this masked man was capable of. Direwolf moved with eye blurring speed. He seemed to switch places with the startled Dunlevy then pushed Reynolds away from the door, taking his place. Reynolds was one of the largest men in the station, at six foot two and nearly two hundred and fifty pounds, he was nearly as large as Direwolf. But Direwolf moved him as if he weighed nothing. And as officer Reynolds was still in motion, a deep roar thundered from room 517. The center part of the door exploded in a storm of splinters.
"Double barreled twelve gage," Joe thought, "that fits Olsen's MO."
The blast caught Direwolf in the stomach. He staggered back and hit the wall. Plaster dust swirled around him. Rather then falling, Direwolf pushed off the wall and charged the door. The door never stood a chance. What was left after the shotgun blast ripped free in another burst of fragments. Direwolf's shoulder clipped the wall and the lathe and plaster didn't fare any better.
Joe peaked in the open doorway, along with Dunlevy. Reynolds was trying to regain his balance.
The apartment matched the expectations raised by the hallway, the same long dead carpet and peeling walls. Furniture that most would consider only junk was scattered around the room, along with heaps of garbage. Lewes Olsen was about halfway into the room, apparently heading for the window and intent on escape. There was a sawed off twelve gage shotgun smoking on the floor and Olsen had just drawn a heavy revolver. As Direwolf came through the doorway, Olsen fired. The bullet hit square in the wolf silhouette on his chest.
This one didn't even slow the young hero down. Joe heard the beginnings of what sounded like a growl from Direwolf as he caught up with Olsen. Olsen fired again in panic and the bullet went wide. Direwolf picked Olsen up and pitched him across the room. Olsen screamed as he flew. The scream ended abruptly as the flying man hit a wall. This time, the wall did much better. Olsen slid to the floor and lay still, groaning softy.
Direwolf turned to face the door. His shirt was in tatters, but the skin was unmarked, no trace of the pistol bullet or double shotgun blast.
"Your man, officers," Direwolf announced.
Antonio, "Big Tony" Corelli was nervous. He would have preferred to be just about anywhere then right here, trying to arrange for a ‘special sale'. But that wasn't an option. When his boss, one Joey "Pinstripe" Rigotta said that Big Tony would handle negotiations, then that was a good as carved in stone. No one argued with Pinstripe, not if they liked breathing.
So Big Tony was seated at a table in the back room of Napoli's restaurant trying to tell the two ‘clients' that he only had one ‘shipment' for sale. He didn't think either was in the mood to share.
The first of the prospective buyers was dressed in an eclectic mix of clothing, including a turn of the century sea captain's jacket, paisley print cotton pants that looked like they came from India, and a Greek fisher man's cap complete with embroidered patch, and a worn red bandana around his throat. The pair of colt .45 pistols holstered at his hips, bandoleer of grenades, short spear-like weapon on the table in front of him and the look of cold malice in his eyes mitigated the comic appearance. This man was a killer. He went by the name Deep Six and kept tossing a thick gold coin in the air.
The other was a heavy set man in a fur lined coat that Big Tony was sure covered an assortment of lethal hardware. This one called himself simply Mr. Peters and seemed to lack any emotion. He stared at Tony as if unwilling to accept what Tony was telling him.
"We had a deal, Mr. Corelli, a deal for which we paid you a not insubstantial sum in advance," Mr. Peters said slowly, his voice thick with an eastern European accent.
"You're not the only one!" Deep Six snarled. "My boss put out a lot of gold for this!"
"Please, gentlemen, let's keep civil in all this," Big Tony said, making sure his hands were in clear sight above the table. If it came to a firefight, he knew he'd be sacrificed while Pinstripe's other solders opened fire on these two. He wanted to make sure it didn't get that out of control.
Not for the first time, he wondered if this wasn't all an elaborate way for Pinstripe to rub him out.
"Mr. Pinstripe dealt straight like he always does. He just didn't anticipate the difficulties inherent in track down this sort of...merchandise. It's proving harder to come by than we anticipated. But I assure you, our organization is actively pursuing every lead." He opened the briefcase on the table. Inside was a pair of silvery metal cylinders that each possessed a faint purple glow.
"Their scarcity makes them a very valuable commodity," Big Tony continued. "Mr. Pinstripe has suggested that you each be satisfied with one rather than four since, in the event we can find that many, it might be cost prohibitive."
"Far too valuable to be wasted," a woman said from the shadows.
"What the..." Tony snarled, reached for a gun. Both the prospective clients were drawing weapons as well.
A slender woman in a silver and black costume seemed to step out of the shadows in the corner of the room as if walking out of a door. A silver belt in the shape of a snake swallowing its tail rode on her hips, supporting several pouches and a long knife with a snake's head hilt. There was a gold and carnelian bracelet on her left wrist and a complex collar of enameled gold in the shape of a vulture with outspread wings covering much of her chest. A patch of shadows seemed to cling to her, obscuring the upper half of her face. She held a baseball sized carving of a scarab beetle in her right hand. She raised the carving and a web of silver light spun out, wrapped around the brief case, and drew it to her. A bubble of silver threads surrounded her.
"This is they key to what we all seek," she said, her voice low, melodious and very much in control. "We must use it well and wisely. This is a matter that must be discussed in detail. Send your lords to meet with me Monday night at moonrise in the abandoned park in Pinewood Heights on Cedar Street. I will be there.
She turned to face Mr. Peters. "You need not attend, I will bring your lord myself."
The silver light contracted, swallowing the woman and the case. The lingering shock left all three men stunned for a few more moments. Big Tony acted first. He lowered his gun since the target was long gone.
"I think I need to talk to Mr. Rigotta about this," he said.
"Ay," Deep Six agreed, "the captain needs know this as well. Will your Mr. Rigotta go to this meeting, do you think?"
Tony shrugged. "His call, but I think he'll want to meet with any dame who can walk through his security and walk out with his merchandise like that."
"I suspect the captain will want to meet her as well."
"I need to talk to...my associates, "Mr. Peters said, standing up and putting the small submachine gun back into his coat. "Good evening, gentlemen, I suspect this mater is far from concluded."
Peters left, and Deep Six followed. Tony forced himself to pick up a phone to make his report. On the bright side, no one had shot him yet.
"It was the most amazing thing!" Reynolds exclaimed, "One moment I was there, then, bam, he just moves me aside and takes a shot that would have cut me in half!"
"Then, it was like he was made of coiled springs or something," Dunlevy interjected. "He was through the door like a battering ram. I swear he took a forty-five round in the chest and didn't slow down. He pitched Olsen across the room like he was a toy!"
Joe Wojosky sat back and listened to the conversation. They were back at the 16th, Lewis Olsen was booked and Dunlevy and Reynolds were basking in the glory of the moment, telling the story of how Direwolf helped them bag the bad guy over and over as more officers stopped by to hear. The story grew a little each time, but Joe didn't try to correct them. He'd never seen morale this high in the three years he'd been at the 16th. And his plan seemed to have worked out perfectly. The men and women of the station seemed to have come to the conclusion that Direwolf was ‘theirs', he might not be part of the force but he was sure a friend and ally. The fact that he'd in all probability saved Reynolds sure helped. There was already discussion about how they might get him to help with other cases.
"Sounds like I've found a story," someone said by the door.
Joe looked over and saw the trim redheaded form of Jenny Weathers, general gadfly and reporter for the Patriot City Herald. Only she was brazen enough to come to the 16th Street station at night in search of a story. The rest of the press would come after sun up when it was safer.
"Good evening, Ms. Weathers," Joe said. "What brings you out to this lonely outpost?"
Jenny laughed with real humor and Joe couldn't help but notice how cute she looked when her freckled nose scrunched up like that. "Word on the wire was that you nabbed Lewes Olsen. I figured there had to be a story here somewhere. Seems I was right. Who's this Dark Wolf?"
Joe sighed. "He goes by Direwolf, I'll tell you more up in my office. Back to work people!"
Up in his office, Joe poured two cups of coffee and handed one to the red haired reporter. "So, what do you want to know?"
She smiled again, just as charmingly. "Everything, of course."
"We received information that Lewes Olsen was holed up in the old Stedford arms buildings on 3rd Street. Since Olsen was known to be very mobile, we decided to move quickly to apprehend him. We found him there, shots were fired but fortunately, no one was injured and we apprehended Olsen. He'll be turned over to federal authorities in the morning. End of story."
Jenny snorted in a very unladylike fashion and grimaced at the coffee. "What do you use for filters, sweat socks? Come on, sarge, we go back too far for the run-a-around. I broke the story about what happened to you three years ago and tried to work a little public outrage for the good cop taking a fall on a political sword. I've always played fair. You own me. What's the story on Direwolf?"
"Well, he showed up last weekend with a couple of muggers in tow. Offered to help and I thought he might be of use with Olsen. Turns out he was. I figure he saved Reynolds life."
"Now we are getting somewhere, give me the full story."
Joe complied, telling her every thing he knew about the young hero and what he'd seen him do. Jenny asked questions throughout and insisted on a complete description.
"So, this Direwolf isn't a new part of Freedom Force. Interesting, the lone wolf angle has promise," she said after Joe finished. She glanced over her notes and jotted down arrows, numbers and stars in the margins. "How do you feel about having a vigilante working your territory?'
Joe sat back and sipped his coffee while he collected his thoughts. He knew he was moving into dangerous territory. So much would depend on what he said, and how Jenny chose to report it. She wanted a story and it was a safe bet the Herald morning edition would break they news that a new hero was in town. But that story could play out a lot of ways.
Direwolf could come off as a dangerous rogue element, answerable to no one, who just happened to help out the law, this time. Or he could be presented as an unofficial vigilante in the pocket of the Patriot City Police, their very own hit squad to deal with dirty work. Jenny could use this to say the men of the 16th had given up and were relying on outside help. Or even turn it into a personal crusade to unmask someone who dared work on their own, outside the sanction of Freedom Force. Any of those would sell papers. Would the truth do as well? There was only one way to find out.
"I think this city has seen a lot of changes in the past few months and more are coming. Direwolf has the same rights as any citizen and seems to have a willingness to put himself in harm's way to help others. I respect that; it's part of what makes for a good cop. In addition, Direwolf seems to have a respect for the rights of others and a willingness to abide by those rights. That's another part of what makes a good cop. Speaking as an officer of the Patriot City Police, I applaud anyone who decides to do what they can to make a positive contribution to this city. So long as he stays on the right side of the law, he has my support and admiration. I don't know if the police commissioner will agree with my stance, but I hope so."
Jenny stuck the tip of her tongue out of the corner of her mouth as she scribbled down Joe's statement. Then she put the notebook away.
"That sounded good enough for a campaign speech, Joe. You should run. No way you could do as bad a job as most of our elected officials, even if you tried to screw up. Now, off the record. What do you really think? I swear on a stack of bibles and my mother's grave this is just between us and won't make it into print."
Joe laughed. "I happen to know you mother is still very much alive and fleecing the rest of her knitting circle every Friday night at their poker games. My aunt plays there as well. But ok, off the record. I really mean what I said. Direwolf's new to the hero biz and doesn't have the support Freedom Force has. I think he's going to give it his best and really try to do what's right. He'll make mistakes, that's bound to happen. But I think his toughest critic is going to be himself. Yeah, he's an easy target if the press goes looking for someone to muddy in the name of profit. If that happens, his path gets tougher, but I don't think it will stop him. One way or other, Direwolf is here to stay."
Jenny looked at him sharply, as if expecting more, and then asked, "Can I use your phone?"
"Sure." Joe figured he knew what was coming. He was right.
"Yeah, Chief, pull page one. I've got a hot one. New super type in town who's not part of Freedom Force. I'll write it up once I'm in. Oh, and get the best sketch artist you can find. Yeah. Soon as I can. Bye.
"Thanks, Joe, I've got to fly."
"Drive safe, Stormy," Joe called at Jenny's rapidly retreating back, evoking the nickname her fiery temper had eared her. Then he sat back and looked out the dark window. Now the die was cast. Coming morning, Direwolf was going to find himself caught up in a publicity storm. He only hoped the young man was up to this challenge as well.
To be continued...
