[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/J2p1lxg.png[/img][/center] [b][CENTER][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mSeIh9rmEUs]IN DREAMS CHAPTER 3[/URL][/CENTER] [/b] [b]New York[/b] [b]October, 1938[/b] Captain Larry Belmont stepped into his apartment and slid off his coat. The smell of dinner cooking was just the thing he needed after a long hard day. Belmont shucked his blazer off and hung it up beside the coat. He walked through the apartment with his shoulder harness holster exposed. “Daddy is that you?” “It is,” said Belmont. “I’ll be there in a moment.” Belmont retreated to the small room that acted as his study. He removed the gun and holster before locking them in the bottom desk drawer. Satisfied it was secure, he stepped into the kitchen. Dian was there, working on her famous Beef Wellington. Her boyfriend was also joining them for dinner. Belmont wasn’t sure what to make of him even after two years of Dian going steady with him. His pudgy face and glasses meant he would never be anything close to handsome. He was kind of a dullard, and yet had such a dry sense of humor one remark could make Belmont laugh for hours. And he was rich. That was a big tally mark in the pro category for Belmont. He may have been a bit boring and taciturn, but Dian loved him. And he treated her right. That was pretty much enough for Belmont. And with some of the more… questionable men she had dated before, boring old Wesley Dodds was a safe choice for a potential husband. “Captain Belmont,” said Dodds. The two men shook hands as Dian gave Belmont a kiss on the cheek. “Please, Wes,” Belmont waved a dismissive hand towards him. “Don’t call me captain. Sir… or Mr. Belmont will do.” “How was work, Daddy?” “Tedious,” Belmont grunted. He sat down at the kitchen table beside Dodds and started to unloosen the knot on his tie. “Me and half the damn taskforce spent twelve hours combing the Upper West Side for potential murders. There’s plenty in this goddamn city. A murderer in New York? It’s like looking for the right needle in a stack of needles. It’s my fault for listening to some goddamn crazy kook in a gasmask!” “The Sandman?” Dodds leaned forward. Belmont noticed the interest in his eyes. Dian was also listening intently as she pretended to put the finishing touches on dinner. The two of them were something of true crime junkies, especially when it came to Belmont’s dealings with the Sandman. But then again they were a lot like most of New York. The whole masked man of mystery fad was sweeping the city. There was the Sandman, the Crimson Avenger, Hourman, and that guy who ran around dressed like a fucking bullet. Guess what his name was? Bunch of lunatics who sold papers like hotcakes. And Belmont would never admit it aloud, but the Sandman had helped him out on a few cases from time to time. At least one of them had a use. “Yeah,” said Belmont. “The Sandman said he had some kinda dream--” “Vision,” said Dodds. Dodds cleared his throat when he saw the annoyed look on Belmont’s face. Dian just turned back to the stove to start plating dinner. “Anyway,” said Belmont. “He said he saw in some kinda dream that this Tarantula guy would be caught on the Upper West Side. It’s the closest thing we’ve had in this case in six months so we jumped on it. Plenty of crazies we interviewed but none panned out so it’s back to--” Belmont stopped talking when the phone rang. He rose and walked to it while Dian and Dodds looked on. This time of night it would have only been for him and it would only be something urgent. “Yeah? Yeah, operator, patch him through…. Phil, what’s going on? You’re shitting me. And… shit. Okay. I’m on my way back.” Belmont hung up the phone and looked back at his daughter and her boyfriend. “Can I get that dinner packed up? We may have a break in the case.” “How so?” asked Dian. “Patrol has reports of a girl getting nabbed by some unknown man off the street in… the Upper West Side. We’re running a dragnet through the neighborhood.” Dodds shot up from the table with such a force he banged his knees against the table. “Oh no!” He shouted. “I just remembered… I have an important client meeting tomorrow morning I need to prep for.” Belmont raised an eyebrow as Dodds started to scramble for his coat. Dian also looked at Dodds with a scowl. Scatterbrain. That was one of the flaws Dodds had, now that Belmont remembered it. A complete and total scatterbrain. “I’ve got to go.” Dodds had his hat in his hands and looking sheepishly at Dian. “I’ll phone you tomorrow.” “I made all this Beef Wellington for nothing,” Dian sighed. “At the very least, Daddy, you could let me tag along to the dragnet.” “Absolutely not,” Belmont and Dodds said in unison. The two men exchanged glances. At least they were on the same page about that. “I have to go,” Dodds said as he rushed towards the door. “Good luck, Captain--” “Don’t call me Captain--” “And pleasant dreams, Dian.” “What in the world do you see in him?” Belmont asked after Dodds had gone. “A lot of things,” Dian said with a slight smile. “He’s smart, passionate… he’s… a dreamer.” [hr] [b]New York City[/b] [b]Now[/b] “Look at all this shit.” Patrolmen Santos and Richards walked through the apartment of the deceased Sanderson Hawkins. Detective Gold had sent them to check the place out after talking to Hawkins’ ex-wife. According to her the old man had no reason to off himself. Gold didn’t really believe her. Almost everyone who committed suicide left behind loved ones who refused to believe the truth. For Gold and the rest of the 19th Precinct this was strictly a CYA measure. Cover Your Ass. The landlord had let the two cops in, grumbling the whole time about how Hawkins was on the verge of being evicted and what the hell had he been thinking when he killed himself owing three months of rent. They were expecting lushes last stop. Instead they found museum quality tidy. The little apartment was some kinda shrine. Filled wall to wall with posters, books, photos and trophies for some guy called... “The Sandman,” said Santos. “Ain’t that the guy who fights Spider-Man?” “See the age on some of this stuff, dummy,” said Richards. He waved a flashlight at a faded old poster of a man in a gasmask and fedora walking through a fog. “This is old as hell. Gotta be one of those masked guys from back during WW2.” “Some of it looks like it’s missing,” said Santos. “Bits and pieces, here and there you know? Not like ransacked and burgled... just missing.” Richards looked at an easy chair uncomfortably close to the television. “I see a laptop charger… with no laptop.” Santos’ flashlight fell on the glass display in the far corner. “Big ass display… with nothing in it. Just a naked dummy. Again, nothing broken… but stuff missing.” “Eh, nothing suspicious.” Richard shrugged. “Let’s let the good detective there’s a lot of weird shit, but nothing worth looking into.” [hr] Back at his apartment, Wesley Dodds tried to operate Sandy’s laptop as best as he could. He squinted against the bright screen and dragged a weathered finger across the touchpad. It was hard to believe but a long, long time ago he had been on the cutting edge of technology when he’d bought a computer for Dodds Manufacturing. Of course that computer had weighed half a ton and would take up half of Wesley’s current apartment if it were here today. Looking down at this thing suddenly made him remember how old he truly was. In the corner of his apartment was a duffle bag he’d taken from Sandy’s with… a few select items in them. Wesley remembered the last conversation he’d had with Sandy and suddenly felt ashamed. He’d told Sandy to just throw the costume and everything in his sad little apartment out. He’d been angry then. Angry at Sandy, angry at his life, even angry at God. The boy just happened to be an outlet for that anger. He paused what he was going and took a deep breath. He couldn’t let the past effect his future now. Not when he had something at stake. Despite being so much younger than Wesley, Sandy had still been an elderly man. And his computer was not very secure. Wesley easily found his emails and began to search through them. He found several correspondents with different people over items and prices. He thought back to the missing items in Sandy’s collection. One email chain caught his attention. It was long and had multiple back and forths every day up until a week ago. He clicked on it and began to read. “Oh, my god,” he said aloud. “...Sandy… what kind of mess had you gotten yourself into?”