Direwolf: Cold Iron & Hot Steel - part 8 "You said it yourself..."
by Direwolf
Officers Ramon Juarez and Franklin Thomas had left the Liberty Lane Police Station under a cloud of scandal. They were accused of beating up a bookie for his take, and while everyone knew they did it, Internal Affaires couldn't prove it. But enough of the scandal stuck to get them busted down to patrol officers and relegated to the backwater of the Patriot City PD, the Devil's Kitchen. There, they soon set up shop again and over the past year had discovered which of the locals could be shaken down and which ones offered the best bribes. In all, it wasn't a bad way to make a less than honest buck.
Sunday night was quiet even in the Kitchen. Ramon and Franklin were relaxing in the break room with a copy of the Herald sports section. Football season was fast approaching and they were considering how best to set up a station betting pool. They were distracted when Officer Dunlevy stuck her head in the door.
"The desk sarge said to tell you two mooks that one of your snitch's snuck in the back to talk to you. Something about the string of burglaries. He's waiting back in Interrogation Room Four."
Juarez looked at her quizzically. "Who is it?"
Dunlevy shook her head, making her black curls dance. "No idea. Not my case or my problem."
She vanished back out the door.
"May as well have a look see," Franklin said, grabbing his gun belt from the back of his chair.
The two of them sauntered through the station house. The last thing you wanted to do was make a snitch think he was important. That was the best way to make them expect more money or even respect.
Interrogation Room Four was located in the back of the station's ground floor, near the cells and the reinforced door that led to the parking lot. Neither of them noticed that door was currently unbarred. With Franklin in the lead, the two officers walked into the interrogation room. The room was about twelve feet long by ten feet wide. A couple of dusty chairs occupied one corner and a large, grimy mirror coved one wall. A single 60-watt bulb and a faint spill of light from the single barred window provided the only illumination. There was one person, a fairly big guy in a long brown coat hunched down in a chair.
"This better be important," Juarez said as he pulled the door shut behind him.
"Oh, it is." The form in the chair stood up, seeming to expand as he did so. Direwolf faced the two startled cops. Before they reacted, he brushed past them and latched the door.
"What the..." Ramon started to protest.
Direwolf put one hand and each of their chests and pushed with a fraction of his immense strength. The two men stumbled back towards the far wall. "Have a seat."
"I don't think so," Franklin snarled as he drew his service revolver and settled into a firing stance. "You are under arrest, wise guy!"
Ramon felt the first real flutter of fear. The masked man seemed unconcerned by the gun centered on the white wolf's head on his chest. He wanted to call a warning but was afraid of looking like a coward in front of his partner. Palms slick with sweat, he waited to see what happened.
Direwolf stood relaxed by the door. "I wouldn't suggest firing. No one is going to come help and you will just make me mad."
"Yeah, guess you are right." Franklin started putting his gun away then as quickly as he could, fired three times into Direwolf's chest.
The shots seemed impossibly loud to Ramon. It felt as if everything slowed down, each moment caught in a gel of time. He saw the Direwolf rock back from the three impacts but the bullets didn't penetrate. It was a quite a shock, there was a difference between ‘knowing' someone was supposed to be bullet proof and seeing it happen. Then Direwolf was moving in a blur of speed while Franklin gasped in surprise, the cloud of gunsmoke still expanding around him. Direwolf hit Franklin once in the pit of the stomach and Ramon could tell the masked hero had pulled the blow. Nonetheless, Franklin flew across the room like he was shot from a cannon, hit the wall with a spray of plaster dust and slumped to the ground. In the process, he lost hold of the service revolver. The .38 special was tumbling in the air when Direwolf grabbed it. Direwolf squeezed. With a scream of metal, the hardened steel barrel bent in his hands. He tossed the ruined gun down to the groaning man.
"I told you it would make me mad," Direwolf calmly said. "Now sit down!"
Ramon helped his gasping partner up into a chair then sat down himself, making sure his hands were in plain sight. He felt a trickle of sweat trace an icy patch down his back.
"What do you want with us?"
"That's better, Officer Juarez. Let's keep this polite. It has come to my attention that you two have been collected funds in my name. I want to talk to you about that."
"Got nothing to say to you," Thomas snarled. " We beat Internal Affairs once, we can do it again!"
"But I'm not Internal Affairs. I'm not a cop. I don't give a damn about the rule of law except for the laws I make. Cross me, and I'll put my fist through your chest. Who's going to stop me?" Direwolf reached out and casually snapped an armrest off on of the old oak chair. He broke it in half with a sharp crack that made Ramon think of a leg breaking.
"It's like you told Two-card and Shades, it's the law of the jungle. And I'm top predator. You want to fight me to see who's king of the hill?"
Thomas lost his bluster and Ramon wondered if this was what a heart attack felt like. They both shook their heads emphatically.
"Good. Now, you are shaking down the locals. I want my cut and you can keep in business. And I figure you know all the other cops on the take and I want to know them as well." He held up his hand to stop their protests. "Don't tell me you don't know. I figure you guys have to keep track of each other so you don't end up double dipping and putting the moneymakers out of commission. I want them all, as well as how much they bring in."
"Right," Franklin admitted. "Sergeant Simpkins keeps track of it all, he's been here the longest. We can tell you who we know."
Once the dam broke, the two crooked cops fell over each other getting out names in a rush of confession. Direwolf jotted it all down in a small notebook.
"Thank you gentlemen," he said with a predatory smile, "this will do quite well. One last thing, though. Do I have to cut Sergeant Joe Joe in on the action?"
Franklin snorted. "That straight arrow? Nah, he's not in on the ring. He must suspect but we play below the table good enough he doesn't see nothing. More for us all that way."
"Glad to hear it!" Direwolf rapped his knuckles on the wall. A moment latter, the door opened. Cold Iron and Sergeant Wojoesky stepped in. The latter looked mad enough to spit carpet tacks.
Up until that moment, Officer Ramon Juarez was sure the night couldn't get any worse.
"You two get out!" Joe snapped at the two stricken cops. "I'll deal with you later!"
They left without protest. Direwolf tore the pages from his notebook and handed them over.
"There you go, sir, the list of all your bad apples."
Joe read the list and shook his head. "This is a third of my force! If I loose this many men we might as well shut down the station."
"Ha! I knew it!" Cold Iron rumbled. "You say there's nothing you can do so nothing changes for the people in the Kitchen!"
"Hold on, Joe didn't say that, he said he couldn't loose them all, isn't that right?"
Sergeant Wojoesky nodded.
"And Iron, if the cops all pull out, things will just get worse in those streets, won't it? You may not want to admit it, but they do help doesn't they?"
Cold Iron was silent for quite a while. "Yeah, you're right."
"Then we try something different. Sergeant, you have to come down hard, make sure they all know this isn't ‘business as usual' any longer. Any, and I mean any, graft or corruption will get dealt with harshly. Let them know you have your own street sources and if any of them, from tonight, damn it, so much as pinch an apple, then they'll be out.
"But it doesn't end there," Direwolf continued. "You let them know that if that happens, the crooked cops will answer to Cold Iron here. He keeps the peace. If someone comes to him with a story about being shaken down, then Iron gets to deal with the perp. No blue shield for these guys if they are bad."
"What's going to stop the locals from trying to settle a score by setting up someone with a lie?" Joe asked.
Direwolf grinned, sensing he'd won half the battle. "We all try to find the truth but if you two disagree, that's when I come in. I mediate."
"What?" Cold Iron roared, "you're nearly a cop yourself! Why should I trust you?"
"Seeing as where I found you this evening, you had better trust me." Direwolf didn't elaborate on the threat. "Besides, I'm the best you got. If you really want to do something to help the people who live here, don't fight someone else who wants the same thing. Sergeant Joe wants what you want. Are you going to ignore that for your own pride?"
Cold Iron was silent and Direwolf thought he saw a look of deep consideration in his dark brown eyes behind the metal mask.
"It's just like what you told me. It's time to stand up or shut up. This is your chance to take a real step towards fixing what's wrong with this place."
"Joe," Direwolf said suddenly turning to face the police officer, "without us, what will you do with this information?"
Joe sighed. "Not a lot I can do, seeing as how it was obtained. Mount my own investigation and see if I can get enough admissible evidence to get them fired. And hope they don't come after me instead."
"It's us or things don't change, then," Direwolf exclaimed.
Cold Iron shook his head. "Damn, me working with the cops. I'll bet Lucifer just ordered some ice skates. You know Joe Joe, you are all right, for a cop."
For the first time, Sergeant Joe smiled. "And you are all right, for a vigilante."
This time, Cold Iron laughed. "You let them bad cops know that if anything happens to you, Iron is going to land on their butts. That's assuming Wolf-boy here don't chew them up first."
"Guardian angels huh? You two look more like the devil's henchmen to me!"
"I can live with that, how about you?" Cold Iron asked Direwolf.
"I'm good with the look."
Joe snorted. "I think Abbot and Costello just got some competition. Let's go make sure Dunlevy and Reynolds know everything is all right. They did a good job of keeping anyone from looking into the cause of the shots."
"I was so glad not to hear their names tonight," Direwolf admitted. "But one thing first, you told me you had some information on a Mamma Lunna's truck?"
"Yeah, one of the officers reported ticketing one a few days ago. It was parked near the bridge, just south of Patrick Hennery by 18th. It was in front of Sunrise Dismantlers, an auto wrecking yard."
Cold Iron shook his armored head. "That's one word for it. They run a stolen car ring. Either chop ‘em up for parts or sell the whole thing out of state."
Joe nodded. "Yeah, it's a hot steel front, but we haven't been able to get enough good information for a warrant. If we had a good tip from inside maybe things would be different."
Direwolf nodded. "Sounds like it's worth checking out."
Silver Scarab had taken over the old office of the facility she and the Red Skorpions occupied. The inner office made a good place to sit in the darkness and commune with the inner voice that sometimes guided her, albeit in a cryptic fashion. Now, as she looked at the pictures that ran in the Herald of the man called Direwolf, she listened without her ears.
"It is him, the wolf you spoke of, isn't it?"
"Yes, come through time and space to fulfill his appointed role."
"What role? You said we both had roles to play."
"Ah yes, he is the yang to your yin. The dark to your light, the fire to your water."
"Is he good while I am evil?"
"No, though the idea is close. He is destruction and you are creation."
"So he is evil?"
The voice laughed inhumanly in her mind. "Hardly. No more than Lord Shiva clearing away what is old and broken so creation can begin again, or a shark thinning a population or a volcano that destroys a valley to build a coast is evil. And that which creates can create all manner of things. I spoke to a frustrated house painter and he built the most impressive war machine the world had ever seen. A whisper in the word of another and accused witches burned across Europe. I spoke to another and he split the very atoms."
"What will I create?"
"Great things, plans and alliances, opportunities for yourself and others. Things that will shake the very pillars of heaven. And, if you can, a legacy that will last longer then the pyramids of Giza. All this I will guide you towards. But he will try to oppose you, to tear down what you would seek to create. You must be ready and be strong."
She looked to the back corner of the office where a soft purple glow shimmered around a pair of cylinders.
"You know what they are for, use them as you must."
"Will they come tomorrow night?"
Again, the inhuman laugh. "Oh yes, they will come and help in the creation of what they do not understand."
Joe Wojoesky sat at his desk and rubbed his tired eyes. It had been a grueling night. He'd been through nearly half of the list of crooked cops and while he anticipated more than a few problems, he thought that Direwolf's plan had a pretty good chance of success. Not firing the lot of them might be a mistake, but Joe didn't have a lot of choice. Over the next few days, he planned on breaking up most of the pairs that had been scamming together. By pairing a good cop with each of the bad, he hoped he could salvage many of them. But Sergeant Simpkins was already gone. That man had proved too dangerous to keep around so Joe had used what little political power he could bring to bare tonight to get the man sacked. He was sure it would have repercussions, but it was a necessary first step.
Joe leaned back in the chair, lit a cigarette and massaged his tired eyes. The most impressive thing about the whole series of events was how Direwolf had orchestrated the whole thing. Joe had realized the young man was powerful, he hadn't realized just how smart he was. The police sergeant couldn't help but wonder if that made him a better ally or a greater liability.
"Kind of late for that now, isn't it?" he asked his empty office. It didn't answer. With a deep sigh, Joe collected his jacket and headed out, there was a black and white cat in his apartment that was expecting his dinner.
He stopped at the front desk to let the duty officer know he was leaving. Then it was out the back door and into the parking lot. His car was by the gate. Joe walked over to pull the gate open. He didn't make it all the way.
A massive form loomed out of the darkness and knocked him to the ground. At the same instant, a shotgun roared from the shadows. Joe saw Cold Iron standing over him as the blast caught the armored man in the side. The pellets bounced away, leaving bright gray smears on the glossy black armor. Joe looked towards the muzzle flash, reaching for his own gun instinctively. In the dim light he saw Simpkins, his face twisted into a savage, hate filled snarl, racking the gun for another shot. But someone else was dropping into sight from the station roof. Direwolf landed lithely, grabbed Simpkins by the collar and lifted him from his feet. The shotgun clattered to the pavement.
Cold Iron laughed deep from within his helmet. "Damn, Wolf, you was right!"
"Figured if there was going to be trouble, it would be tonight," Direwolf said. He leapt over the fence, still holding Simpkins. "I assume you will be booking this one on attempted murder?"
Joe got to his feet somewhat shakily. Officers were coming out of the station, guns drawn. It looked as if Sassafras was going to have to wait a bit longer for his dinner. "Yeah, I think so, his prints should be all over the shotgun. Thomas, cuff him. And thanks, you guys."
"Just being neighborly," Cold Iron insisted, "And letting every one know we are keeping our end of the deal."
Joe realized that now, no one would doubt he had a couple of couple of seriously bad guardian angles.
After making sure Simpkins was safely in custody, Cold Iron and Direwolf faded back into the darkness.
"Not a bad night's work," Cold Iron admitted.
"Yeah, that worked out pretty well. Make sure to spread the word that no more cops are accepting graft in the Kitchen."
"That will be a first for any part of this city, man."
There was a sudden silence that stretched for a few moments.
"Listen," Direwolf said, "I'm sorry about the pounding I gave your armor and kicking your door in."
Cold Iron shrugged. "No big deal. The armor can be fixed and the door re-hung. And I got a good look at some of your moves, damn you are fast! But come time for a rematch, I might have a surprise or two up my iron sleeve."
"Hope it never comes to that. You pack a mean wallop. You know, tomorrow evening I'm going to check out Sunrise dismantlers. Care to come along?"
Cold iron shook his head. "Not my fight, Wolf. I told you. I protect the Kitchen. The rest of the city isn't my problem. You have a beef with them, that's your fight, not mine."
Direwolf tried to hide his disappointment. "Suit yourself. Well, nice working with you. I'm sure we'll be talking again sometime."
He turned, ran across the street and leaped to the roof of a building. He paused to look back and wave, then Direwolf was lost in the night.
Cold Iron started back through the nearly empty streets of the Devil's Kitchen. It was hardly surprising that no one molested the nearly seven foot tall armored form carrying a sledgehammer that shown with a pale blue radiance. Back at the brownstone, Cold Iron set the door back in its frame. In morning, he'd repair the damage. Right now, all he wanted was out of the armor and into a hot shower. Then something to eat and some sleep were in order.
Temporary fix in place, Cold Iron walked into the gutted kitchen and triggered a switch inside one of his gauntlets. With a pneumatic hiss, the massive vault door lifted up on twin pistons, emitting a wash of fluorescent light. Cold Iron started down the reinforced ladder. Above his head, the vault door swung shut and four three-inch diameter steel pins locked it in place.
The ladder descended twenty feet into the bedrock below the island Patriot City occupied, and into a network of apartments and laboratory space hidden under the decayed buildings above. Cold Iron unsealed his helmet and pulled it off. The whisper of filtered air brushed over his curly black hair.
"That you, Lewis?" a voice called from one of the rooms connected to the entryway.
"Sure is, dad," the armored man said, walking into a laboratory. The rock floor was packed with workbenches, each sporting a profusion of electrical and mechanical components. Racks of lights hung from the ceiling, directly bolted into the stone.
A man in a wheelchair sat by one the benches, his white hair made a stark contrast with his skin that was nearly the same color as Cold Iron's armor. The old man tinkered with an inexplicable collection of wires and gears on the bench.
"Who else would it be, dad?"
The old man chuckled. "Don't know, but could have been Old Nick himself, seeing as the end of days is on us. Let me see that breast plate, it's still cracked something awful."
Lewis shed the rest of the armor and set the pieces on a nearby workbench. "Like I told you, it's not the end of time, dad. Just something weird about alien energy and super heroes."
"Call it what you will, Lewis. But your uncle would know, he was a fine man, a fine man." The old man wheeled himself over to the Cold Iron armor. He ran his fingers along the cracks and a faint violet light spread to the metal. The cracks sealed. "I knew when that bolt of purple lighting came through the window, it was time to take shelter and wait out the apocalypse."
"If you say so, dad." Lewis kissed his father lightly on the top of his head. "I'm getting a shower."
"You mark my words, boy! Things are going to get a whole lot worse here before they get better!"
Lewis didn't answer. But he figured his father's prediction had a better than average chance of coming true.
To be continued...
