Post by Admin on Jun 12, 2022 16:25:53 GMT
Introduction
Not every mystery hero has a mystical origin or mighty super powers…
Setting
Steel City, Pa : 1959
This ad appeared in ‘The Steel City Sentinel’, the city’s widely-circulated morning paper, on a Wednesday in March, 1958.
HAVE YOU EVER WANTED TO BE A MYSTERY HERO? Are you smart, in good health, a talented athlete with good reflexes, with a good knowledge of the law and a passion for justice? Growing up, did you haunt used book stores, looking for old copies of Doc Shadow and Gem Anthony pulps? Do you like fast cars, fast women, futuristic technology, and fighting? We are looking for a mystery hero! We offer long hours, great pay, glorious adventure, great danger. For a chance to make a difference in the world, apply in person between 9 AM and 2:30 PM, today only, at 2817 Michigan Avenue, 5th Floor, Suite 3. Ask for Mel.
The building at 2817 Michigan Avenue was only perhaps three years old, but otherwise it looked just like the other office buildings nearby. The directory in the well-appointed lobby indicated that it was home to at least a dozen different companies. The door to Suite 3, 5th floor, looked just like any other except for the name stenciled in black on the white frosted glass: The Gallant Foundation.
A slow but steady stream of applicants, most of them male, were efficiently processed. Initially they were greeted by Miss Hart, the receptionist, and required to fill out an application and a personal history. Miss Hart introduced them one-by-one to Mel Courtney in her private office where they completed an extremely difficult written test. Then Mel led them into another suite that had been furnished as a gym and introduced them to Bruno Munchen. Bruno ran them all through an even more taxing physical test, then released each applicant with the same promise: “The Foundation will contact you by mail by Tuesday with the results.”
And they would indeed be contacted: while an applicant was being interviewed by Mel, Miss Hart was completing a sincere, personally signed form letter to that applicant expressing regret that the Foundation had decided on another candidate, and including a $25 gift certificate to say 'Thank you for your time and effort'. All the regret letters were mailed that evening.
In yet another suite, a pair of people were watching the process on closed circuit TV. These two were strikingly similar in appearance and dress to Mel and Bruno, and each was closely studying the actions, words, and mannerisms of his or her near doppelganger.
Every applicant tried to grill the three Gallant Foundation employees about the Foundation and the job. Each got similar responses from all three: “The Gallant Foundation is an altruistic organization that recruits, trains and equips mystery heroes, and is currently under contract to find a hero for Steel City. You’ve never heard of us as we maintain a very low profile. If you are selected, you will receive arduous training, and you will be supplied with a base of operations, whatever gear you require, and an attractive salary. No, we are not affiliated with the Alliance of Mystery Heroes.” And that was all they got.
The boring routine changed shortly after noon. As a new applicant walked through the door, small devices similar to hearing aids brought the Foundation employees the voice of their mysterious, so-far-unseen employer: “That’s him! Mel and Bruno, go to phase 2 and offer him the job. Ginny and Sam, get ready to take over for them for the rest of the day.”
“You sure about this guy, boss? Betcha I can take him.” Bruno whispered into his concealed throat microphone, one of his many inventions.
“You say that about everyone, Bruno,” the boss was amused, but he continued hurriedly before the bristling Bruno could reply. “And, I concede, you’re almost always right. I’m continually surprised that a man of your intellectual attainments is such a brawler.” He sighed. “In this case, I hope you’re wrong. But, if you can indeed ‘take him’ today, then you’re just going to have to make him better.”
“I’m not filling out anything until I find out more about the job,” the new applicant said firmly.
Miss Hart checked out the new applicant, and liked what she saw: a handsome, well-built black man about 6’3”, wearing a tailored suit with double-breasted jacket. But rules are rules, whether she approved of his appearance or not.
“I’m sorry, sir, but unless you fill out the form completely, you might as well leave,” Miss Hart replied, equally firmly. “The form must be completed before you are interviewed.” She left the form on the desk in front of him and turned back to her work. He stood there for a minute, and his expression changed from an angry frown to a resigned smile as he picked up a clipboard and a pen.
“Mel, this is Mr. Randall Ivy. Here’s his paperwork.” Miss Hart turned a dazzling smile his way. “Thank you, Mr. Ivy. Good luck getting the job!”
‘What’s so special about him?’ Mel wondered, giving him a thorough once-over, and then intently studied him some more. ‘We’ve had other tall, fit, expensively-dressed candidates of many races today.’ He casually tossed his wide-brimmed hat across the room and watched with satisfaction as it settled neatly on a hook on the hat rack. ‘None quite as cheeky, though… or as graceful. Still, Mel, you’ve gotta admit he has that indefinable something called ‘presence’. He draws your attention, just by walking into a room.’
“Pleased to meet you, Mr… Ivy.” There was a slight hesitation before she spoke his last name. “Please sit down while I review your paperwork.” As she sat behind the desk, he ignored the chair and plunked down on the corner of the desk. “Well, I must say you’re very bold.” Mel didn’t sound at all annoyed at his boldness. “You know, you’re the first applicant today who lied on his paperwork. You’ve done some very creative story telling. Mind telling me why?”
That grabbed his attention; he’d expected to either fool her completely or be peremptorily tossed out. Though she didn’t appear annoyed, she was still watching him intently; now he looked her over with matching intensity. Mel was tall, and thin, with very long black hair. Her facial features and accent screamed British Isles, though 'Ivy' wasn’t sophisticated enough in British demographics to localize her more closely. She appeared to be in her mid-to-late twenties, and was dressed in an expensive, well-tailored executive business suit, but she somehow seemed uncomfortable in the suit, and the suit out of place on her.
“Two reasons.” He replied easily as he held up one finger. “First, this whole deal feels like a scam to me. A Foundation I’ve never heard of, publicly recruiting for a paid mystery hero position? And in the personals column?” He shook his head, then continued. “Plus, that ad seems to have been written specifically to snag me. I have every pulp mag that even mentioned Doc Shadow, and I’ve never actually met anyone besides me who even knows who Gem Anthony is.” He paused for a second, looked her over again. “Maybe you’re the first, actually. Anyway, giving all my personal information to someone who might be running a con just doesn’t seem wise to me. Have to admit, though, when I came in I was expecting to be charged an application fee and hustled out the door, so just maybe there’s more to this than I thought.”
She smiled and nodded. “There is. We’re not running a scam, my promise. But please continue, what’s the other reason.”
He raised a second finger. “Two. Just suppose, somehow, that this whole setup is legit, you’re really going to turn someone into a mystery hero, and I’m the guy who gets the job? So now I’m Turbohammer, the mystery hero whose real identity and other information is in some Gallant Foundation filing cabinet somewhere? And my arch nemesis, the Silver Zero, who I assume will be as smart and well informed as I am, suddenly remembers that just before Turbohammer showed up, there was a mystery hero want ad in the Sentinel? Heck, he might have even been one of the other candidates today. So, you aren’t getting my personal information until I’m convinced you’re on the level, and I damned well not writing it down anywhere for your records.”
Mel was smiling broadly. “Congratulations, Mr. Ivy. You’ve passed the first test, and you’re the only one today who’s done so. But I’m not going to call you by a fake name any longer. You know my name, what’s yours?”
He considered. In life, there are a lot of relative strangers to whom you give your name. That much, at least, seemed only courteous. He stuck out his hand and spoke seriously. “Hi, Mel, I’m pleased to meet you. My name is Colt Hampton. Please call me Colt.”
Her return handshake was firm, and her voice sincere. “Nice to make your acquaintance, Colt.” ‘Now, you’ve passed the real first test,’ she thought with satisfaction.
“Holy cow!” Colt was visibly stunned when he was introduced to Bruno. “This guy could be Doc Shadow’s aide, Porkchop Playfair’s twin brother!” Half a man tall, two men wide, covered with bristly hair just starting to go gray, with a head that looked like it couldn’t contain a brain larger than a walnut.
“He’s my second cousin, twice removed!” Clearly Bruno had met this reaction before, and was very amused. He put a little extra squeeze into his handshake, and was himself impressed when the taller man not only didn’t wince, but effortlessly matched his grip. “Only I build things, instead of blowing things up.”
Mel almost choked stifling a laugh, so he quickly amended to, “Well, maybe some of the things I build blow things up.” He considered for a second or two. “Well, all right, maybe most of the things I build, actually, but who’s counting?” By now, both Mel and Colt were chuckling, as Bruno did an excellent job of putting Colt at ease. “If you’re still interested in the job, come with us.” He led the way to an elevator.
“What about the other guys in the office?” Colt asked, not really caring about the other guys.
“Don’t worry, they’ll never know they missed us,” Mel responded mysteriously.
“Not running a scam, huh? Getting’ harder and harder to convince me.”
“Wait till you see what we got to show you!” Bruno’s sudden childlike enthusiasm was infectious. He wanted to show off!
The elevator opened into a spacious basement garage, almost empty except for two cars and another car covered by a tarpaulin.
“As promised in our ad,” Mel said grandly, “the fast car!”
Bruno swept aside the tarp to reveal a stunning car - a sleek, open-topped ebon-colored Jaguar XKD racer. “Three years ago, she won at Le Mans – and she’s much faster now. And, modified to be street legal – by me!” Mel boasted. “Nothin’ can catch her, nothing can touch her!” Colt was moving forward, fascinated by the powerful machine. “You can look but not touch, Hampton. You take the job, she’s yours, but till then, she’s off limits!” The look on her face suggested he would be wise to listen to her, and he stopped, gazing wistfully at a car he’d only dreamed of!
“And that ain’t all,” Bruno added proudly. He pulled a transistor radio from his pocket and pressed a button on the side. A panel in the car’s rear deck slid aside and a small turret topped by a small bore cannon rose up, spun smoothly through 360 degrees, and then withdrew. “See, what’d I tell you? Nothing’s gonna blow up – unless I pull the trigger.” He laughed at the unbelieving look on Colt’s face. “There’s half a hundred other gadgets built in, Champ. You want advanced technology? It’s my middle name.”
Colt was feeling a little overwhelmed, and he wanted some time to think. “Guys, this is incredibly awesome. Can I have tonight to think it over, and let you know tomorrow?”
“None of this will be around tomorrow, cowboy. Not the office, not the gun, not the car. We’ll look for our guy somewhere else.” Mel sounded regretful.
“If this isn’t a scam, it seems like a very expensive practical joke at my expense,” Colt said with a touch of anger. He was about to say more, when suddenly, he looked very thoughtful. “Say,” he mused slowly, “Someone who knows me well enough to bait me in, throwing money around like bubblegum wrappers, dangling the car of my dreams in front of me, setting up complex and pointless practical jokes… you wouldn’t be working for Dennis David, would you?” He pronounced it Dah-veed.
Neither Foundation employee had ever met their boss. “Never heard the name,” Mel declared firmly as Bruno shook his head uncertainly. “Who is Dennis David?”
“Rich kid I grew up with, liked spending his time on my side of the tracks, smart as a whip but no sense of humor. My best friend until he went off to college. Nobody else would set me up like this, or have the cash to pay for all this…” He swept his hand around, indicating not only the basement and the cars, but Mel and Bruno as well. “You may not know it, but he’s around somewhere. C’mon, Dennis, show yourself!”
There was silence for a few seconds, and then a voice over a speaker built into the wall. “I thought it might take you a little longer to figure it out, Colt. Yes, folks, I’m Dennis David, but this is no practical joke. And, by the way, Slick, I’m hurt to hear you say my jokes were pointless. They always had a point – not that you ever got that point!”
“So, rich kid, why are you hiding from us? Afraid to show your face?”
“It’s not my face I’m hiding, Colt,” there was definite sadness in his voice as a door in the wall slid aside and a man in a wheelchair rolled into the room.
“Surely you’re kidding? Acting, makeup, and freehand drawing?” Colt protested vehemently to his friend – and now his boss. “I get the fighting, shooting, driving and even the pilot lessons. But why do I need this GIRLY stuff, and just WHEN do you think I’ll have the time for it, anyway?”
“You figure it out, bonehead. One of the things we’re trying to teach you is how to think for yourself!” Dennis snapped back. “New assignment – two pages, typed, on why these three courses will help you out.” He paused for an instant in thought, “And… at least 2 other areas of studies that aren’t already on the schedule. Turn it in before your Disguise class – not ‘makeup’! - on Monday morning.” He turned away and rolled out of the locker room.
Behind him, Colt was already thinking. “Who figured being a mystery hero would be such a grind? Don’t doubt you’ll get your paper, rich kid,” he murmured, much too softly for his friend to overhear, as a big smile spread slowly across his face. “Sure I can come up with a case for seduction, and just the right dame to teach it, too! Anything else you’ve ever wanted to learn, hero?” he asked himself. “Now’s your chance…”
‘Maybe Dennis has something after all,’ Colt mused reluctantly as he painfully blocked a flurry of punches his martial arts instructor aimed at his head, and failed to block several others which thudded even more painfully into his midriff. ‘With that black gi, the cape and cowl makes the Hong Kong Kid look like a giant bat. Maybe the look WILL scare some crooks. But I’ll be damned if I’ll wear a cowl or a cape, and I’m gonna show him right now why not!’ He stalked forward again, blocking what he could and absorbing what he couldn’t. A powerful blow to the stomach caused him to stumble, and his martial arts instructor, who the team called ‘the Hong Kong Kid’, immediately launched a powerful sweeping kick at his legs.
But the cape pulled the Kid a little off balance, and Colt managed to evade the kick and step in close enough to grab an ear on the cowl. He yanked hard as he stepped back again, pulling it down and over the eyes of his surprised sensei. That started instant of hesitation was just enough for a left to the solar plexus and a right uppercut that knocked the Kid off his feet – a first for Colt in their months of training!
The fledgling mystery hero quickly backed out of the ring on the mat – he’d made his point and wasn’t looking to get clobbered when his angry instructor popped up off the floor, ready to deliver a little payback.
“OK, hero, I’m convinced. No cape, no cowl.” Dennis had watched the short fight intently – the cape and cowl were his idea. Now he sounded almost dejected.
“Thanks, rich kid. Say, next time, just listen to me and save me some pain, huh? Don’t doubt the Kid’s going to clean my clock the rest of the workout. Stick around – it’ll cheer you up.” Colt replied, a little bitterly. Pointedly: “Ain’t you paying the price, you know.”
“My guess would be Mel,” the mystified drawing instructor commented on the pencil sketch Colt had labored over for a half an hour. “But only because of the hairstyle. It could just as easily be me – or Lydia. But at least, she’s clearly female, which is a big improvement over when you started.”
“Don’t doubt I’ll never be an artist,” he replied cheerfully. “Rich kid’s wasting his money on this one.”
“My money to waste, though,” Dennis sounded equally cheerful as he rolled into the room. There was a hanger hooked on one of the grips on the back of his chair – whatever was hanging there was covered in a zippered cloth bag. “So, hero, do you think you’re ready for some real action?”
Colt jumped to his feet. “Dennis, my man, I was born ready,” he replied confidently. “What ya got?”
“Been a lot of after-midnight robberies on the riverfront recently. Sometimes 3 or 4 a night,” his friend began. “Police haven’t had any luck so far, not sure why. Almost seems like they know in advance where John Law is going to turn up. Even the undercover cops. Hopefully, there won’t be anyone keeping track of you, though.”
Colt wasn’t thrilled with the assignment, but… “Gotta start somewhere, right? You want me to just wander around downtown all night?”
“Well, the plan’s a little more complex than that, but… yeah.”
“So, the trench coat and fedora look or the funny book leotards?” The whole team had argued over Colt’s mystery hero identity and costume. Colt favored the suave film noir look of Eclipse, his favorite Sunday newspaper strip, who wore a black suit and domino mask, though he wasn’t thrilled about the cemetery hideout. Mel favored the skin-tight, glittery leotard and shorts of a circus acrobat or Major Power.
“Something in the middle, actually.” Dennis dexterously reached back, snagged the hanger, and zipped open the bag to reveal what looked like a blue collar working outfit, shirt and pants, but they were both dark gray with a blueish tinge – the color called ‘iron blue’. “Add you, boots, a mask and a utility belt and you’ve got… Ta DAH! Iron!”
Dennis ignored the almost comedic look of dismay on Colt’s face as he continued enthusiastically: “You see the narrative, right? The mystery hero Iron, protector of Steel City! Don’t worry – it’ll grow on you.”
Got Squat… No, Wait!
“Been out here for a couple of hours, rich kid, and I got squat – nada, nothing, zero, bupkiss…” Colt spoke softly into the small microphone of the operator’s headset he was wearing. A trench coat concealed his action costume, and a slouch hat pulled low in front kept his mask and the headset in dark shadows. The signal from the miniature short range radio transceiver, courtesy of Bruno, barely reached his bike, which he called ‘The Steel City Express’, parked a few blocks away, where the signal was picked up and relayed back to the base facility. Iron was riding the bike as he figured a car like the Jag growling around downtown would draw attention. ‘Well partly that,’ he admitted ruefully to himself, ‘but mostly ‘cause Mel won’t let me drive it solo again, yet… just because of that one time it picked up a tiny little scratch.’
“Then again,” he whispered back to his team as he felt the ground rumble slightly underfoot, “who’d be driving a big rig through downtown streets at this time’a night?” He watched from a side street as a semi rolled slowly by. “Looks like a nice call, rich kid. I’m going to cat foot over and see what’s to see. I may be out of range for a few minutes.”
“You’re not going to fire me?” Colt exclaimed in unbelieving surprise. “I totally fubarred my first time out. You want a mystery hero, looks like it isn’t me!” He only sounded extremely dejected because he was dejected. Extremely! For some unknown reason, Dennis had called this meeting on the shooting range. Normally Colt loved the challenge of figuring out why his friend did such strange things, but today he really just wanted to hide away.
“Don’t be silly, Sally,” Dennis chuckled back at him. “Nobody knows anything about his first time out, but even Major Power gets the snot beat out of him now and again.”
“Yeah, and then he gets back up and wins the fight. Not like me.”
“Damnit!” Dennis snapped, loudly, anger ringing out clearly. “You will heal, you’re strong, mobile, agile, and you’ve got a great support team. You don’t see ME giving up, do you?”
Colt was about to make scathing report about how David wasn’t the one in the way of damage and danger – and then realized who he was talking to. When they had been growing up, Dennis had been strong, tall and active. He had been the only kid who had ever bested Colt in even one physical contest – and Dennis won almost all of them. They’d had a fight once, and David had won easily. He’d dreamed of being an heroic adventurer – he was going to become the most famous member of the Explorers Club, he promised everyone all the time, and an entire issues of National Geographic would be devoted solely to his expeditions, each year. Instead, he was forever trapped in a wheelchair. He could have given up and nobody would have blamed him. But they WOULD have pitied him, and Dennis would have none of that.
So Colt quenched his sarcasm: “If I were you, I’d be looking for someone else. I’m just not good enough…” He looked down at the floor.
“Then let’s both be glad you’re not me. We’ll make you better, damn it!” his friend snapped once again. “You know, I looked this up…” he waited until his friend was looking at him again. “You were the shortest starting center in NCAA history to play in the Final Four. And I KNOW you never once said ‘I’m just not good enough.’ Right?”
“Didn’t know that.” Colt was startled. “Got to admit, it was always fun when I stole a rebound by jumping over one of those skyscrapers!” He stood up and stretched., then continued slowly: “Guess you’re right. What’ve you got for me, rich kid?”
“To start, we’re not sending you out as Iron again. Somebody else can take up that ID - I don’t care. Next, a LOT more training from some new instructors. Third, well…” The door opened and Lydia, the Foundation’s tailor, walked in carrying a suit on a hanger. Colt wasn’t sure of the color – a very dark burnt orange, bordering on dark brown.
“Thought we’d let you try the Eclipse look you’ve been lobbying for,” Lydia said as she held the hanger up to give Colt a better look. “Think you’ll like this…” Colt already did, but…
“Been thinking about that,” he said slowly. “That last outfit slowed me down. The pants were a little stiff and interfered with some of my kicks. Maybe Mel’s right… there aren’t many mystery heroes who don’t wear gymnastics outfits. Guess I know why, now…”
Both his teammates smiled mysteriously. Dennis reached up and grabbed the suit, and started wadding it up in his hands. In only seconds, he packed it like a snowball into a wad a little smaller than a soccer ball. “That ain’t all, folks!” Dennis announce with a chuckle. Before Colt could react, he’d pulled a pistol from under the blanket hiding his legs and fired 2 shots into the ball. They must have been blanks, because nothing tore out the other side. Colt was still staring at him incredulously as he handed the ball back to Lydia who quickly shook it out – into a perfectly tailored, well pressed suit! Even more startling – Colt jerked a bit in surprise as two bullets dropped to the floor. And there really were no holes in the suit.
“No flippin’ way! It stops bullets? What’s it made of?”
“New synthetic made by Allomar Chemnotech. Something strange happened to one of their vats of nylon, and out came this stuff. They’ve been trying to replicate it for a couple of years now. Cost me over a million, just for enough fabric for that one suit. More supple than silk but it will turn bullets and blades. Won’t keep you from getting knocked on your ass if you’re hit by bullets, you’ll have some hellacious bruises, but that’s better than being filled with holes.”
“So if it’s that tough, how’d Lydia cut it and stitch it?” He paused, but before they could reply, he answered his own question. “Bingo! Bruno, right?”
“See? The PI course WAS good for you,” Dennis chuckled. “Go see if this fits, then I’ve got something else to show you, too, another one of Bruno’s miracles…”
When he strutted back into the room, he was greeted with quick cheers and enthusiastic wolf whistles from Lydia and Mel, loud applause from Bruno and Dennis, and repeated flashes from the Hong Kong Kid’s camera.
“You know, except for the color scheme, you do look almost exactly like that Eclipse guy from the Sunday funnies,” Mel complimented him, “except he usually starts out with a tie.” He did look good in the stylishly cut and superbly tailored burnt-orange suit and matching Stetson, his white shirt open at the collar, his eyes covered with a domino mask. The tailored waist emphasized his wide shoulders and she thought it made him look even taller, too.
“Which color scheme you talkin’ about, darlin'? Me and Eclipse, or our suits?” Oxide laughed with her. He hadn’t been expecting the whole team to be waiting for him. “Well, that’s kind of the look I’m going for – with my own twists, of course. Along with some of Bruno’s as well.” He flipped his right wrist and suddenly his hand was filled with a small caliber pistol. He flicked it again in a slightly different motion and it was empty again.
“You’ve been practicing – very good!” Bruno noted in appreciation. “But you haven’t seen my latest yet… Well, not really all mine – it was broken and I fixed it.”
“Probably been broken for 90,000 years or so, really, and likely nobody else in the world coulda fixed it,” Dennis explained. “Completely unrecognizable technology, we think it’s from Atlantis - well, we recognize that it needs electricity, not that we know what it gets used for!”
He held out a strange looking pistol. The barrel was thicker than that of a standard pistol, and inset into the end was what appeared to be a tiny radar dish. Above the grip, which looked almost like the grip on the pistol Dennis had fired earlier, there was a small cube that would rest on top of the fist of whoever was holding the weapon, with dials on the top, sides and back. The cube didn't seem to 'go with' the rest of the pistol, but looked like a jerry-rig. The grip was the most standard part of it, though there was no guard over the trigger, which was actually a raised button. “It’s just what it looks like – a ray gun!”
The newest store in the dangerous Rusty Oaks section of Steel City was closed for the night after its third day of operation. The streetlights in this area had been busted again last night. Three men, dressed in dark, inexpensive, poorly-fitted suits which hadn’t been pressed for a while, lounged in the shadows, watching the the place for half an hour after they saw the proprietress place the Closed sign in the door. When no one entered or left during that that time, they slipped up to the door and tried it. Either it was unlocked, or one of the three had a ‘key’, as they were inside in only seconds. They made their way to the small office near the front door, and were surprised to see that the proprietress was talking with a visitor. They hadn’t seen him enter despite their surveillance. She was a short, young black woman, he was a much taller black man whose face was mostly hidden by a dark rust colored, wide-brimmed hat, with a long trench coat of the same color.
“You can put this placard in your window so people will know you are a client of Trusted Solid,” he said as he handed her a poster. “Rusty Oaks is a rough neighborhood, but we’ll keep an eye on your place and keep it safe.”
The three men pushed into the room and surrounded the man in burnt orange. He was taller than any of them, but they probably outweighed him 4 to 1. “Dis guy botherin’ you, ma’am? Don’t look like he’s from around here.” The biggest of the three started off talking to her, then turned to the man in the trench coat. “You better take off, buddy. Dis lady don need no useless uptown Fancy Dans like you around here.”
“Good evening, gentlemen,“ the store manager seemed perfectly at ease, despite being in the middle of a group of much larger men. “The store is closed for the day. If you have business to transact, can you come back tomorrow… when the sign on the door says ‘Open’?” Her tone of voice changed pointedly over the last few words.
Derby, the largest of the three men in suits, was thinking fast. Dis could be a problem, but da boss likes guys what solve their own problems. Discreepily. “Sorry, lady. Sure, we’ll be back t’mra.” He turned to the man in the trench coat. “You comin, Fancy Dan?” It was supposed to sound like an order.
As ‘Fancy Dan’ replied, he pushed back his wide-brim hat, and the others could see that he was wearing a domino mask. “My name’s Oxide, boys. In fact, I’m on my way out to dinner; thought I’d try the Blackthorn. Hear it’s the best meal in Rusty Oaks. Could you give me directions?”
“We’se going that way, in fact,” Darby replied with a wide smile. “Stick with us, we’ll getcha there.”
Oxide tipped his hat to the store manager. “Best of the day to you, Miss Emerson. Have a nice evening and don’t worry about your store any longer - Trusted Solid is on the job.”
The three men weren’t much for conversation. Colt threw out a conversation starter, but it pretty much fell flat.
“I sure appreciate you guys showing me around,” he began. “I grew up in West Iron…” (A neighborhood on the other side of Steel City) “…and I’ve been away from Steel City for years.”
“You look like a Westy,” one of the shorter men responded, and it sounded like an insult. Darby broke in quickly.
“Dis way,” he tugged on Colt’s arm, toward the mouth of an alley. “Short cut, saves us about three blocks…” Oxide turned obediently and the four men walked into the alley. A few seconds later, anyone near the mouth of the alley might have heard the sounds of Derby and his team discreepily dealing with their problem. Some muffled whacks, and then several much louder thumps, and then, not so discretely, a single gun shot, a loud grunt, a crack that suggested a kick to a jaw, and another thump.
Colt walked easily out of the alley. He tossed three pistols onto the street near the sewer grating, pulled out a strange looking pistol (which we’ve seen before…), aimed it at the guns on the pavement and swung the barrel back and forth over then for about 10 seconds.. The gray steel of the guns changed color, becoming duller and darker. “I suppose there’s plenty more where those came from,” he spoke ruefully, “but you gotta start somewhere…” He kicked the three now-useless pistols through the sewer grate.
“Part one and done, rich kid,” Colt reported through his radio. “Don’t worry, I left the big guy awake. They’ll know I’m comin’ before I get there.” He paused for a second. “Assumin he’s smart enough to call in… His boss ain’t gonna be happy with him.”
“He’ll probably figure out that she’d be a lot less happy with him if she finds out he knew you were coming and he didn’t warn her,” David replied through the radio.
“I still don’t like this plan, Dennis. You know I’ll be walking into a trap.”
“Yeah, we got ‘em just where we want them!”
”Easy for you to say, at the other end of the radio,” Oxide was sarcastic. “Well, let’s get it over with!” He strode off down the street, in the direction of the Blackthorn Drinking and Eating Establishment.
“There’s only the one guy,” the hastily-stationed lookout reported from the payphone a couple blocks down the street from the Blackthorn. “Pretty big, and he could be packin under that trench coat. But nobody with him or following him, far as I can tell. They mighta gone around the block - more likely, Derby’s fulla crap.”
As Colt passed the phone booth, two big men left the shadows and stepped to either side of him. Colt wasn’t surprised; they hadn’t been nearly as well hidden as they thought. He was a bit curious about what they might say, but he decided it was better for him to take the initiative. “You’re Heckle and you’re Jeckle, right? Sorry, never been able to tell you guys apart.”
“You’ll pay for that smartass remark, punk.” That was the one he’d called Heckle.
“Sorry, boys, I’m selling tonight, not buying. Protection against high doctor bills, in your case. Interested?”
Jeckle grabbed him and tried to drag him into another alley. “Hoos gonna pay d’undertaker for you, smart guy?”
“Bad investment choice,” Oxide mocked. He surprised Jeckle by surging ahead rather than struggling, breaking free, lowering his shoulder, and bowling over the two toughs already waiting in the alley. He turned to face his original startled assailants. “Surprise - I figured Chip and Dale were waiting for me. Odds up to 4 on 1, eh? Bruno would just love this!” ‘Time to see if Oxide’s better than Iron was.’
Unless they knocked him down or got past him, the narrow alley would make it difficult for more than two of them to attack at once. On the other hand, he didn’t have much room to dodge. It might be a good time to try out some of the other functions of ‘Bruno’s Ray Gun’.
'Bruno’s Ray Gun', the Oxidation Pistol, probably had once had much more functionality, when it had been created in the ancient Atlantean civilization. Inside the body of the pistol there was a block of silicon with wires attached to it that Bruno claimed probably had millions of tiny transistors embedded in it, and some of that block was damaged. What was left drove a ray gun that could affect oxidation. Since oxidation is the basic reaction that sustains life, the gun could have been a literal death ray, but they had tested it extensively and the invisible rays it emitted had no observable affect on anything alive. So Oxide couldn’t just stop the chemical reactions in the cells in a human body, for instance, or prevent hemoglobin from binding to oxygen; the gun wasn’t a death ray after all. But he could use it to produce some pretty impressive effects.
Almost everything will oxidize, in the right circumstance. The rays of the Bruno Gun somehow affected the tendency of things to oxidize - basically, it could be adjusted to totally prevent oxidation, or to force almost anything to oxidize. And cause that oxidation to occur right now, rather than over some extended period of time. Fast oxidation usually involves the release of light and heat, and after a lot of experimenting, the team had learned how to utilize those effects.
Colt spun a dial on the gun with his thumb, pulled the trigger and waved the barrel in an arc in front of his four attackers - and every tiny particle of dust in that volume of air flashed into a tiny flame as it was forced to oxidize instantly. The combined flash was brighter than a flashbulb; the heat not enough to ignite their clothes or cause blisters. Tiny shutters in Oxide’s mask, again courtesy of Bruno, protected him from the flash, and he instantly he took advantage of his momentarily dazzled opponents.
“I could almost feel like a bum slugging blinded guys if I didn’t know how much worse you guys are. Seen some pictures of your victims; don’t doubt they were helpless when you were beatin em.” A couple of haymakers to the jaws of Chip and Dale, a spinning kick to Heckle’s jaw, and a knee to the groin for Jeckle, and four bodies thumped to the filthy pavement of the alley, three of them unconscious and Jeckle moaning in agony. Colt reversed the pistol and whacked him on the back of the head, and then the alley was quiet.
The attractive evening hostess of the Blackthorn disappeared instantly from behind her stand in the lobby through the hanging bead curtain to the office and then out the back door when Oxide exploded through the front door of the club. Despite its location in such a rough neighborhood, she’d so far been pretty much insulated from any dangerous goings on in the club and didn’t have any interest in becoming better acquainted.
The big, rough-looking bouncer always stationed at the entrance had his gun out but the invader totally ignored that danger. “You’d better turn around and just walk out, buddy, or they’ll be carrying you out.”
“Sure, so you can shoot me in the back. Not likely. Go tell your boss that Oxide’s here from Trusted Solid, and I want to talk about Protection.” He took a step closer as he talked.
This guy had gone through Derby’s team and the bouncer's normal backups, the twins, then Shiv and Little Al, like they were nothing. Tahley was tough, but he knew when he was outmatched, and he wasn’t going to fool around with this guy. He pulled the trigger on his silenced revolver three times, phwitt, phwitt, phwitt, three slugs slammed into Oxide’s chest, thud, thud thud, jolting him backward, and three slugs fell to the floor, plunk, plunk,… plunk (the last one got tangled in his coat for half a second). Colt recovered and surged forward, knocking the stunned shooter’s arm to the side and his gun from his hand, and then he was around behind the guy with his arm around his neck and his own gun pressed against the temple of the startled bouncer.
”Let’s start this over, bonehead. I want to see the boss…”
The hanging beads rustled and Oxide risked a look - a woman was stepping through from the office. She had seemingly been poured into a skin-tight black gown that glittered with sequins and showed off every curve. Her lustrous black hair dropped to her bare shoulder and was artfully draped to conceal one eye. Even without her 4” heels, Colt estimated that she would be at least 5’8” tall. Her lips were full and a dark, mysterious red, her movements graceful; her voice low and a little rough, reminding him of the contented rumbling of a jaguar purring. Her scent was subliminally subtle, initially barely noticeable, reaching across the room and slipping through his senses until suddenly it pulsed powerfully in the pleasure and danger centers of his brain. Without even noticing his action, Colt reeled backward a step, as if he had been jolted by a powerful jab to the head.
“Please release Mr. Tahley, Mr. Oxide. Surely there is no need for violence to mar the beginning of what could be a mutually satisfactory business discussion.”
“Tallzee, here, shot me,” Oxide growled back. “I suppose you start all your business discussions the same way?”
“Only when the other party barges into my club, scares the hell out of my hostess, and assaults another of my employees, Mr. Oxide,” her voice dropped in volume so he had to lean closer to hear. She leaned toward him as well, and suddenly he was reminded of just how low-cut was her decolletage. “Please step into my office, and let’s try and start over again.”
Colt released Tahley, waved his gun at Tahley’s pistol lying on the floor against the wall. “Beat it, bonehead, the boss and I have business.” Tahley was out through the front door in a flash. Oxide turned to the woman. “You know who I am - who the hell are you?”
She held our her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Oxide. I’m Sloe Sizzle, the owner of the Blackthorn.”
Colt almost smiled in momentary appreciation of her name. “The deadly berry of the Blackthorn… appropriate.” Her hand was hot and caressed his own as they shook hands.
“Please have a seat, Mr. Oxide,” she flopped down on the wide black leather sofa, trying to draw him down next to her. When he resisted, she released his hand and flopped backward onto the sofa, almost reclining. He moved to the desk and seated himself on the corner. “Well, well, a man who does things his own way. Well, if you change your mind, don’t hesitate to make yourself comfortable.” She spread her hands. “So this protection you are trying to sell me - is that protection from you?”
“Not selling anything, Miss Sizzle. I’m here to shut down your protection racket.”
“Why Mr. Oxide, you hardly know me well enough to accuse me of doing something sinful. I’m not, you know, just an innocent girl trying to run an honest business.” She looked him over closely. “Well, maybe not all that innocent… And I could use a big, strong, forceful man like you as a partner.”
“Your bouncer just tried to kill me,” he replied.
“Are you going to hold that against me forever?” she asked sulkily. “I didn’t tell him to, but I’ll fire him if you like.” She stood up, exposing a breathtaking expanse of leg in the process, stepped closer, slipped her hand under his coat to rest on his chest, and leaned in until her eyes were only inches from his, her enticing scent surrounding him. “Or maybe there’s some other way I can make it up to you?” Her breath was moist and hot against his lips. He couldn’t see her other hand slip under the corner of the desk.
‘Something behind me!’ Colt spun quickly as a quiet mechanical whirring somehow pushed aside the veil of his bemusement Sloe Sizzle had drawn over him. High on the wall, a cuckoo popped out of a clock. Colt relaxed for an instant, but then noticed the hands on the clock. ‘Shoulda chirped a few minutes ago, not now! A distraction!’
He spun again, looking for Sizzle, but the beads in the door to the lobby were swinging wildly and there was no trace of but for her lingering scent. He whirled at another sound, again behind him, the scrape of a panel in the rear wall of the office, sliding open. Several big men, brandishing a variety of weapons, were already pushing eagerly through the still-widening entrance.
In a single fluid motion, Colt swept his hat from his head and scaled it hard across the room toward the face of the lead rusher. Seeing something flying towards his eyes, the big guy slammed on the brakes and threw up his hands to shield his face. The big guy behind him ran into him, and then the big guy behind him crashed into them, and the three were knocked to the floor, temporarily impeding the rush of the others behind them. Colt took advantage of the confusion to pull his ray gun, spin a couple of dials with his thumb, and fired.
There were so many different settings for the oxidation ray that Bruno had theorized that the damaged lump of silicon must have been circuitry that was controlled by the gun-bearer’s mind. The relatively primitive controls he’d grafted onto the advanced Atlantean marvel only provided Colt with about a dozen choices, and he was well practiced in making his selection. This time he chose laughing gas. He'd drawn a deep breath before he fired.
At full power, wide dispersion, the ray forced the molecules of about half of the gaseous oxygen in the two small rooms to dissociate and combine with nitrogen molecules, creating a brief flash of heat and momentarily flooding that space with nitrous oxide. It would dissipate quickly through normal air circulation but for the next few minutes, anyone breathing in those two rooms would quickly become woozy and pass out.
Colt took two quick steps froward, recovered his hat from the writhing pile of bad guys, and then pushed through the hanging beads. If the tough guys were still here when he got back, he’d wrap them up, but he was after bigger game, their boss. In an instant, though, the evening’s mission turned from a (wo)manhunt to a frantic rescue mission.
He was trying to guess whether she’d gone into the club proper or out the door when he was knocked off his feet as one wall of the lobby exploded into flames. From the ground, he forced himself to sit up and concentrate on his training, then spun the selector on his pistol and fired another full dispersion, full power burst at the flaming wall. The flames died instantly as the ray completely suppressed all non-living oxidation in its cone. But the burst from his pistol only lasted about two seconds, and there were still places on the wall that were hot enough to catch fire again as soon as the ray cut off. The renewed flames were initially much less fierce than they had been, but they were stubborn. There was now screaming coming from within the club, and people were starting to fight through the door and swarm through the lobby. He couldn’t go back inside that way!
So, he took another deep breath and went back into the office, where he picked up a chair and bashed out the window. He couldn’t spare the time to drag the toughs outside, but the incoming air might revive them in time to save their own lives. He slammed open the other door, which put him in a hallway, and was almost knocked down by a couple of escaping bartenders. The hall let him out behind the bar; he hopped over into the barroom, one wall of which was engulfed in flames.
‘She must have had remote control firebombs built into the walls, just to cover her escape’, he thought in horror.
Again he fired, and for an instant, the vicious flames were snuffed out, and again, as soon as his ray went out, the hot spots caught fire again. But the reviving flames were less fierce than they had been - he’d bought some time. And by now the bar was empty.
He rushed into the main dining room, and used up the remaining power in his gun temporarily putting out flames as the last of the diners pushed their way out of the room and the building. He made sure he was the last person to exit the dining room, then pushed back into the office, grabbed one of the still-recovering men and dragged him to the front door. A couple firemen ran to aid him. Dropping the rescued man, he led the firefighters back to the office, where they started herding the rest of the stunned and still docile bad guys toward safety. When he reached the street again, he saw that the firefighters had the scene relatively under control, so he faded into the shadows.
‘Sloe Sizzle has escaped this time,’ he thought ruefully, but then cheered up. ‘Don’t doubt this’ll shut down her her protection racket. She won’t be shaking down anyone in Rusted Oaks, at least for a while. And if she tries it again, why, I’ll be around to shut her down. A pretty good debut night’s work for Oxide, the Steel City Stalwart!’
Not every mystery hero has a mystical origin or mighty super powers…
Setting
Steel City, Pa : 1959
Job Interview
This ad appeared in ‘The Steel City Sentinel’, the city’s widely-circulated morning paper, on a Wednesday in March, 1958.
HAVE YOU EVER WANTED TO BE A MYSTERY HERO? Are you smart, in good health, a talented athlete with good reflexes, with a good knowledge of the law and a passion for justice? Growing up, did you haunt used book stores, looking for old copies of Doc Shadow and Gem Anthony pulps? Do you like fast cars, fast women, futuristic technology, and fighting? We are looking for a mystery hero! We offer long hours, great pay, glorious adventure, great danger. For a chance to make a difference in the world, apply in person between 9 AM and 2:30 PM, today only, at 2817 Michigan Avenue, 5th Floor, Suite 3. Ask for Mel.
Pre-screen
The building at 2817 Michigan Avenue was only perhaps three years old, but otherwise it looked just like the other office buildings nearby. The directory in the well-appointed lobby indicated that it was home to at least a dozen different companies. The door to Suite 3, 5th floor, looked just like any other except for the name stenciled in black on the white frosted glass: The Gallant Foundation.
A slow but steady stream of applicants, most of them male, were efficiently processed. Initially they were greeted by Miss Hart, the receptionist, and required to fill out an application and a personal history. Miss Hart introduced them one-by-one to Mel Courtney in her private office where they completed an extremely difficult written test. Then Mel led them into another suite that had been furnished as a gym and introduced them to Bruno Munchen. Bruno ran them all through an even more taxing physical test, then released each applicant with the same promise: “The Foundation will contact you by mail by Tuesday with the results.”
And they would indeed be contacted: while an applicant was being interviewed by Mel, Miss Hart was completing a sincere, personally signed form letter to that applicant expressing regret that the Foundation had decided on another candidate, and including a $25 gift certificate to say 'Thank you for your time and effort'. All the regret letters were mailed that evening.
In yet another suite, a pair of people were watching the process on closed circuit TV. These two were strikingly similar in appearance and dress to Mel and Bruno, and each was closely studying the actions, words, and mannerisms of his or her near doppelganger.
Every applicant tried to grill the three Gallant Foundation employees about the Foundation and the job. Each got similar responses from all three: “The Gallant Foundation is an altruistic organization that recruits, trains and equips mystery heroes, and is currently under contract to find a hero for Steel City. You’ve never heard of us as we maintain a very low profile. If you are selected, you will receive arduous training, and you will be supplied with a base of operations, whatever gear you require, and an attractive salary. No, we are not affiliated with the Alliance of Mystery Heroes.” And that was all they got.
The boring routine changed shortly after noon. As a new applicant walked through the door, small devices similar to hearing aids brought the Foundation employees the voice of their mysterious, so-far-unseen employer: “That’s him! Mel and Bruno, go to phase 2 and offer him the job. Ginny and Sam, get ready to take over for them for the rest of the day.”
“You sure about this guy, boss? Betcha I can take him.” Bruno whispered into his concealed throat microphone, one of his many inventions.
“You say that about everyone, Bruno,” the boss was amused, but he continued hurriedly before the bristling Bruno could reply. “And, I concede, you’re almost always right. I’m continually surprised that a man of your intellectual attainments is such a brawler.” He sighed. “In this case, I hope you’re wrong. But, if you can indeed ‘take him’ today, then you’re just going to have to make him better.”
A Little Attitude
“I’m not filling out anything until I find out more about the job,” the new applicant said firmly.
Miss Hart checked out the new applicant, and liked what she saw: a handsome, well-built black man about 6’3”, wearing a tailored suit with double-breasted jacket. But rules are rules, whether she approved of his appearance or not.
“I’m sorry, sir, but unless you fill out the form completely, you might as well leave,” Miss Hart replied, equally firmly. “The form must be completed before you are interviewed.” She left the form on the desk in front of him and turned back to her work. He stood there for a minute, and his expression changed from an angry frown to a resigned smile as he picked up a clipboard and a pen.
The Real First Test
“Mel, this is Mr. Randall Ivy. Here’s his paperwork.” Miss Hart turned a dazzling smile his way. “Thank you, Mr. Ivy. Good luck getting the job!”
‘What’s so special about him?’ Mel wondered, giving him a thorough once-over, and then intently studied him some more. ‘We’ve had other tall, fit, expensively-dressed candidates of many races today.’ He casually tossed his wide-brimmed hat across the room and watched with satisfaction as it settled neatly on a hook on the hat rack. ‘None quite as cheeky, though… or as graceful. Still, Mel, you’ve gotta admit he has that indefinable something called ‘presence’. He draws your attention, just by walking into a room.’
“Pleased to meet you, Mr… Ivy.” There was a slight hesitation before she spoke his last name. “Please sit down while I review your paperwork.” As she sat behind the desk, he ignored the chair and plunked down on the corner of the desk. “Well, I must say you’re very bold.” Mel didn’t sound at all annoyed at his boldness. “You know, you’re the first applicant today who lied on his paperwork. You’ve done some very creative story telling. Mind telling me why?”
That grabbed his attention; he’d expected to either fool her completely or be peremptorily tossed out. Though she didn’t appear annoyed, she was still watching him intently; now he looked her over with matching intensity. Mel was tall, and thin, with very long black hair. Her facial features and accent screamed British Isles, though 'Ivy' wasn’t sophisticated enough in British demographics to localize her more closely. She appeared to be in her mid-to-late twenties, and was dressed in an expensive, well-tailored executive business suit, but she somehow seemed uncomfortable in the suit, and the suit out of place on her.
“Two reasons.” He replied easily as he held up one finger. “First, this whole deal feels like a scam to me. A Foundation I’ve never heard of, publicly recruiting for a paid mystery hero position? And in the personals column?” He shook his head, then continued. “Plus, that ad seems to have been written specifically to snag me. I have every pulp mag that even mentioned Doc Shadow, and I’ve never actually met anyone besides me who even knows who Gem Anthony is.” He paused for a second, looked her over again. “Maybe you’re the first, actually. Anyway, giving all my personal information to someone who might be running a con just doesn’t seem wise to me. Have to admit, though, when I came in I was expecting to be charged an application fee and hustled out the door, so just maybe there’s more to this than I thought.”
She smiled and nodded. “There is. We’re not running a scam, my promise. But please continue, what’s the other reason.”
He raised a second finger. “Two. Just suppose, somehow, that this whole setup is legit, you’re really going to turn someone into a mystery hero, and I’m the guy who gets the job? So now I’m Turbohammer, the mystery hero whose real identity and other information is in some Gallant Foundation filing cabinet somewhere? And my arch nemesis, the Silver Zero, who I assume will be as smart and well informed as I am, suddenly remembers that just before Turbohammer showed up, there was a mystery hero want ad in the Sentinel? Heck, he might have even been one of the other candidates today. So, you aren’t getting my personal information until I’m convinced you’re on the level, and I damned well not writing it down anywhere for your records.”
Mel was smiling broadly. “Congratulations, Mr. Ivy. You’ve passed the first test, and you’re the only one today who’s done so. But I’m not going to call you by a fake name any longer. You know my name, what’s yours?”
He considered. In life, there are a lot of relative strangers to whom you give your name. That much, at least, seemed only courteous. He stuck out his hand and spoke seriously. “Hi, Mel, I’m pleased to meet you. My name is Colt Hampton. Please call me Colt.”
Her return handshake was firm, and her voice sincere. “Nice to make your acquaintance, Colt.” ‘Now, you’ve passed the real first test,’ she thought with satisfaction.
New Acquaintances and Old
“Holy cow!” Colt was visibly stunned when he was introduced to Bruno. “This guy could be Doc Shadow’s aide, Porkchop Playfair’s twin brother!” Half a man tall, two men wide, covered with bristly hair just starting to go gray, with a head that looked like it couldn’t contain a brain larger than a walnut.
“He’s my second cousin, twice removed!” Clearly Bruno had met this reaction before, and was very amused. He put a little extra squeeze into his handshake, and was himself impressed when the taller man not only didn’t wince, but effortlessly matched his grip. “Only I build things, instead of blowing things up.”
Mel almost choked stifling a laugh, so he quickly amended to, “Well, maybe some of the things I build blow things up.” He considered for a second or two. “Well, all right, maybe most of the things I build, actually, but who’s counting?” By now, both Mel and Colt were chuckling, as Bruno did an excellent job of putting Colt at ease. “If you’re still interested in the job, come with us.” He led the way to an elevator.
“What about the other guys in the office?” Colt asked, not really caring about the other guys.
“Don’t worry, they’ll never know they missed us,” Mel responded mysteriously.
“Not running a scam, huh? Getting’ harder and harder to convince me.”
“Wait till you see what we got to show you!” Bruno’s sudden childlike enthusiasm was infectious. He wanted to show off!
Nothin' Can Touch my XKD
The elevator opened into a spacious basement garage, almost empty except for two cars and another car covered by a tarpaulin.
“As promised in our ad,” Mel said grandly, “the fast car!”
Bruno swept aside the tarp to reveal a stunning car - a sleek, open-topped ebon-colored Jaguar XKD racer. “Three years ago, she won at Le Mans – and she’s much faster now. And, modified to be street legal – by me!” Mel boasted. “Nothin’ can catch her, nothing can touch her!” Colt was moving forward, fascinated by the powerful machine. “You can look but not touch, Hampton. You take the job, she’s yours, but till then, she’s off limits!” The look on her face suggested he would be wise to listen to her, and he stopped, gazing wistfully at a car he’d only dreamed of!
“And that ain’t all,” Bruno added proudly. He pulled a transistor radio from his pocket and pressed a button on the side. A panel in the car’s rear deck slid aside and a small turret topped by a small bore cannon rose up, spun smoothly through 360 degrees, and then withdrew. “See, what’d I tell you? Nothing’s gonna blow up – unless I pull the trigger.” He laughed at the unbelieving look on Colt’s face. “There’s half a hundred other gadgets built in, Champ. You want advanced technology? It’s my middle name.”
Colt was feeling a little overwhelmed, and he wanted some time to think. “Guys, this is incredibly awesome. Can I have tonight to think it over, and let you know tomorrow?”
“None of this will be around tomorrow, cowboy. Not the office, not the gun, not the car. We’ll look for our guy somewhere else.” Mel sounded regretful.
Another Secret
“If this isn’t a scam, it seems like a very expensive practical joke at my expense,” Colt said with a touch of anger. He was about to say more, when suddenly, he looked very thoughtful. “Say,” he mused slowly, “Someone who knows me well enough to bait me in, throwing money around like bubblegum wrappers, dangling the car of my dreams in front of me, setting up complex and pointless practical jokes… you wouldn’t be working for Dennis David, would you?” He pronounced it Dah-veed.
Neither Foundation employee had ever met their boss. “Never heard the name,” Mel declared firmly as Bruno shook his head uncertainly. “Who is Dennis David?”
“Rich kid I grew up with, liked spending his time on my side of the tracks, smart as a whip but no sense of humor. My best friend until he went off to college. Nobody else would set me up like this, or have the cash to pay for all this…” He swept his hand around, indicating not only the basement and the cars, but Mel and Bruno as well. “You may not know it, but he’s around somewhere. C’mon, Dennis, show yourself!”
There was silence for a few seconds, and then a voice over a speaker built into the wall. “I thought it might take you a little longer to figure it out, Colt. Yes, folks, I’m Dennis David, but this is no practical joke. And, by the way, Slick, I’m hurt to hear you say my jokes were pointless. They always had a point – not that you ever got that point!”
“So, rich kid, why are you hiding from us? Afraid to show your face?”
“It’s not my face I’m hiding, Colt,” there was definite sadness in his voice as a door in the wall slid aside and a man in a wheelchair rolled into the room.
A New Life
All his life, Colt had been an average student. After high school, he’d done a 2-year stint in the Army, then gone to Steel City College on the GI bill. Given his goals, to meet girls and play basketball, his college career had been an outstanding success, and he had graduated with an offer to play for the Harlem Globetrotters, an invitation to try out for the Boston Celtics, a degree in Education (minor in Psych) and a legendary reputation as a campus Romeo. Nothing in his prior life had prepared him for the thorough, comprehensive and exhausting year-long education the ‘Gallant Foundation’ arranged for him.
Art, and the Art of Disguise
“Surely you’re kidding? Acting, makeup, and freehand drawing?” Colt protested vehemently to his friend – and now his boss. “I get the fighting, shooting, driving and even the pilot lessons. But why do I need this GIRLY stuff, and just WHEN do you think I’ll have the time for it, anyway?”
“You figure it out, bonehead. One of the things we’re trying to teach you is how to think for yourself!” Dennis snapped back. “New assignment – two pages, typed, on why these three courses will help you out.” He paused for an instant in thought, “And… at least 2 other areas of studies that aren’t already on the schedule. Turn it in before your Disguise class – not ‘makeup’! - on Monday morning.” He turned away and rolled out of the locker room.
Behind him, Colt was already thinking. “Who figured being a mystery hero would be such a grind? Don’t doubt you’ll get your paper, rich kid,” he murmured, much too softly for his friend to overhear, as a big smile spread slowly across his face. “Sure I can come up with a case for seduction, and just the right dame to teach it, too! Anything else you’ve ever wanted to learn, hero?” he asked himself. “Now’s your chance…”
Cape and Cowl
‘Maybe Dennis has something after all,’ Colt mused reluctantly as he painfully blocked a flurry of punches his martial arts instructor aimed at his head, and failed to block several others which thudded even more painfully into his midriff. ‘With that black gi, the cape and cowl makes the Hong Kong Kid look like a giant bat. Maybe the look WILL scare some crooks. But I’ll be damned if I’ll wear a cowl or a cape, and I’m gonna show him right now why not!’ He stalked forward again, blocking what he could and absorbing what he couldn’t. A powerful blow to the stomach caused him to stumble, and his martial arts instructor, who the team called ‘the Hong Kong Kid’, immediately launched a powerful sweeping kick at his legs.
But the cape pulled the Kid a little off balance, and Colt managed to evade the kick and step in close enough to grab an ear on the cowl. He yanked hard as he stepped back again, pulling it down and over the eyes of his surprised sensei. That started instant of hesitation was just enough for a left to the solar plexus and a right uppercut that knocked the Kid off his feet – a first for Colt in their months of training!
The fledgling mystery hero quickly backed out of the ring on the mat – he’d made his point and wasn’t looking to get clobbered when his angry instructor popped up off the floor, ready to deliver a little payback.
“OK, hero, I’m convinced. No cape, no cowl.” Dennis had watched the short fight intently – the cape and cowl were his idea. Now he sounded almost dejected.
“Thanks, rich kid. Say, next time, just listen to me and save me some pain, huh? Don’t doubt the Kid’s going to clean my clock the rest of the workout. Stick around – it’ll cheer you up.” Colt replied, a little bitterly. Pointedly: “Ain’t you paying the price, you know.”
Introducing… the new Protector of Steel City
“My guess would be Mel,” the mystified drawing instructor commented on the pencil sketch Colt had labored over for a half an hour. “But only because of the hairstyle. It could just as easily be me – or Lydia. But at least, she’s clearly female, which is a big improvement over when you started.”
“Don’t doubt I’ll never be an artist,” he replied cheerfully. “Rich kid’s wasting his money on this one.”
“My money to waste, though,” Dennis sounded equally cheerful as he rolled into the room. There was a hanger hooked on one of the grips on the back of his chair – whatever was hanging there was covered in a zippered cloth bag. “So, hero, do you think you’re ready for some real action?”
Colt jumped to his feet. “Dennis, my man, I was born ready,” he replied confidently. “What ya got?”
“Been a lot of after-midnight robberies on the riverfront recently. Sometimes 3 or 4 a night,” his friend began. “Police haven’t had any luck so far, not sure why. Almost seems like they know in advance where John Law is going to turn up. Even the undercover cops. Hopefully, there won’t be anyone keeping track of you, though.”
Colt wasn’t thrilled with the assignment, but… “Gotta start somewhere, right? You want me to just wander around downtown all night?”
“Well, the plan’s a little more complex than that, but… yeah.”
“So, the trench coat and fedora look or the funny book leotards?” The whole team had argued over Colt’s mystery hero identity and costume. Colt favored the suave film noir look of Eclipse, his favorite Sunday newspaper strip, who wore a black suit and domino mask, though he wasn’t thrilled about the cemetery hideout. Mel favored the skin-tight, glittery leotard and shorts of a circus acrobat or Major Power.
“Something in the middle, actually.” Dennis dexterously reached back, snagged the hanger, and zipped open the bag to reveal what looked like a blue collar working outfit, shirt and pants, but they were both dark gray with a blueish tinge – the color called ‘iron blue’. “Add you, boots, a mask and a utility belt and you’ve got… Ta DAH! Iron!”
Dennis ignored the almost comedic look of dismay on Colt’s face as he continued enthusiastically: “You see the narrative, right? The mystery hero Iron, protector of Steel City! Don’t worry – it’ll grow on you.”
Got Squat… No, Wait!
“Been out here for a couple of hours, rich kid, and I got squat – nada, nothing, zero, bupkiss…” Colt spoke softly into the small microphone of the operator’s headset he was wearing. A trench coat concealed his action costume, and a slouch hat pulled low in front kept his mask and the headset in dark shadows. The signal from the miniature short range radio transceiver, courtesy of Bruno, barely reached his bike, which he called ‘The Steel City Express’, parked a few blocks away, where the signal was picked up and relayed back to the base facility. Iron was riding the bike as he figured a car like the Jag growling around downtown would draw attention. ‘Well partly that,’ he admitted ruefully to himself, ‘but mostly ‘cause Mel won’t let me drive it solo again, yet… just because of that one time it picked up a tiny little scratch.’
“Then again,” he whispered back to his team as he felt the ground rumble slightly underfoot, “who’d be driving a big rig through downtown streets at this time’a night?” He watched from a side street as a semi rolled slowly by. “Looks like a nice call, rich kid. I’m going to cat foot over and see what’s to see. I may be out of range for a few minutes.”
Almost two hours later, he was lying in an infirmary bed, barely conscious even now, recovering from a severe beating. He’d surprised the team of thieves who’d been in the truck at a riverside warehouse as they had started to load furs into the trailer. He’d quickly dispatched two of them and was about to take down the third when the one he hadn’t spotted slugged him from behind. After he fell, he’d quickly and viciously been pummeled unconsciousness. The bad guys had taken their vengeance, then gone about their looting. After an hour of radio silence, Bruno had gone looking for him, and brought him back to Dennis’ base facility.
Busted Iron
“You’re not going to fire me?” Colt exclaimed in unbelieving surprise. “I totally fubarred my first time out. You want a mystery hero, looks like it isn’t me!” He only sounded extremely dejected because he was dejected. Extremely! For some unknown reason, Dennis had called this meeting on the shooting range. Normally Colt loved the challenge of figuring out why his friend did such strange things, but today he really just wanted to hide away.
“Don’t be silly, Sally,” Dennis chuckled back at him. “Nobody knows anything about his first time out, but even Major Power gets the snot beat out of him now and again.”
“Yeah, and then he gets back up and wins the fight. Not like me.”
“Damnit!” Dennis snapped, loudly, anger ringing out clearly. “You will heal, you’re strong, mobile, agile, and you’ve got a great support team. You don’t see ME giving up, do you?”
Colt was about to make scathing report about how David wasn’t the one in the way of damage and danger – and then realized who he was talking to. When they had been growing up, Dennis had been strong, tall and active. He had been the only kid who had ever bested Colt in even one physical contest – and Dennis won almost all of them. They’d had a fight once, and David had won easily. He’d dreamed of being an heroic adventurer – he was going to become the most famous member of the Explorers Club, he promised everyone all the time, and an entire issues of National Geographic would be devoted solely to his expeditions, each year. Instead, he was forever trapped in a wheelchair. He could have given up and nobody would have blamed him. But they WOULD have pitied him, and Dennis would have none of that.
So Colt quenched his sarcasm: “If I were you, I’d be looking for someone else. I’m just not good enough…” He looked down at the floor.
“Then let’s both be glad you’re not me. We’ll make you better, damn it!” his friend snapped once again. “You know, I looked this up…” he waited until his friend was looking at him again. “You were the shortest starting center in NCAA history to play in the Final Four. And I KNOW you never once said ‘I’m just not good enough.’ Right?”
“Didn’t know that.” Colt was startled. “Got to admit, it was always fun when I stole a rebound by jumping over one of those skyscrapers!” He stood up and stretched., then continued slowly: “Guess you’re right. What’ve you got for me, rich kid?”
“To start, we’re not sending you out as Iron again. Somebody else can take up that ID - I don’t care. Next, a LOT more training from some new instructors. Third, well…” The door opened and Lydia, the Foundation’s tailor, walked in carrying a suit on a hanger. Colt wasn’t sure of the color – a very dark burnt orange, bordering on dark brown.
“Thought we’d let you try the Eclipse look you’ve been lobbying for,” Lydia said as she held the hanger up to give Colt a better look. “Think you’ll like this…” Colt already did, but…
“Been thinking about that,” he said slowly. “That last outfit slowed me down. The pants were a little stiff and interfered with some of my kicks. Maybe Mel’s right… there aren’t many mystery heroes who don’t wear gymnastics outfits. Guess I know why, now…”
Both his teammates smiled mysteriously. Dennis reached up and grabbed the suit, and started wadding it up in his hands. In only seconds, he packed it like a snowball into a wad a little smaller than a soccer ball. “That ain’t all, folks!” Dennis announce with a chuckle. Before Colt could react, he’d pulled a pistol from under the blanket hiding his legs and fired 2 shots into the ball. They must have been blanks, because nothing tore out the other side. Colt was still staring at him incredulously as he handed the ball back to Lydia who quickly shook it out – into a perfectly tailored, well pressed suit! Even more startling – Colt jerked a bit in surprise as two bullets dropped to the floor. And there really were no holes in the suit.
“No flippin’ way! It stops bullets? What’s it made of?”
“New synthetic made by Allomar Chemnotech. Something strange happened to one of their vats of nylon, and out came this stuff. They’ve been trying to replicate it for a couple of years now. Cost me over a million, just for enough fabric for that one suit. More supple than silk but it will turn bullets and blades. Won’t keep you from getting knocked on your ass if you’re hit by bullets, you’ll have some hellacious bruises, but that’s better than being filled with holes.”
“So if it’s that tough, how’d Lydia cut it and stitch it?” He paused, but before they could reply, he answered his own question. “Bingo! Bruno, right?”
“See? The PI course WAS good for you,” Dennis chuckled. “Go see if this fits, then I’ve got something else to show you, too, another one of Bruno’s miracles…”
Face the Team
When he strutted back into the room, he was greeted with quick cheers and enthusiastic wolf whistles from Lydia and Mel, loud applause from Bruno and Dennis, and repeated flashes from the Hong Kong Kid’s camera.
“You know, except for the color scheme, you do look almost exactly like that Eclipse guy from the Sunday funnies,” Mel complimented him, “except he usually starts out with a tie.” He did look good in the stylishly cut and superbly tailored burnt-orange suit and matching Stetson, his white shirt open at the collar, his eyes covered with a domino mask. The tailored waist emphasized his wide shoulders and she thought it made him look even taller, too.
“Which color scheme you talkin’ about, darlin'? Me and Eclipse, or our suits?” Oxide laughed with her. He hadn’t been expecting the whole team to be waiting for him. “Well, that’s kind of the look I’m going for – with my own twists, of course. Along with some of Bruno’s as well.” He flipped his right wrist and suddenly his hand was filled with a small caliber pistol. He flicked it again in a slightly different motion and it was empty again.
“You’ve been practicing – very good!” Bruno noted in appreciation. “But you haven’t seen my latest yet… Well, not really all mine – it was broken and I fixed it.”
“Probably been broken for 90,000 years or so, really, and likely nobody else in the world coulda fixed it,” Dennis explained. “Completely unrecognizable technology, we think it’s from Atlantis - well, we recognize that it needs electricity, not that we know what it gets used for!”
He held out a strange looking pistol. The barrel was thicker than that of a standard pistol, and inset into the end was what appeared to be a tiny radar dish. Above the grip, which looked almost like the grip on the pistol Dennis had fired earlier, there was a small cube that would rest on top of the fist of whoever was holding the weapon, with dials on the top, sides and back. The cube didn't seem to 'go with' the rest of the pistol, but looked like a jerry-rig. The grip was the most standard part of it, though there was no guard over the trigger, which was actually a raised button. “It’s just what it looks like – a ray gun!”
Finally, some action!
The newest store in the dangerous Rusty Oaks section of Steel City was closed for the night after its third day of operation. The streetlights in this area had been busted again last night. Three men, dressed in dark, inexpensive, poorly-fitted suits which hadn’t been pressed for a while, lounged in the shadows, watching the the place for half an hour after they saw the proprietress place the Closed sign in the door. When no one entered or left during that that time, they slipped up to the door and tried it. Either it was unlocked, or one of the three had a ‘key’, as they were inside in only seconds. They made their way to the small office near the front door, and were surprised to see that the proprietress was talking with a visitor. They hadn’t seen him enter despite their surveillance. She was a short, young black woman, he was a much taller black man whose face was mostly hidden by a dark rust colored, wide-brimmed hat, with a long trench coat of the same color.
“You can put this placard in your window so people will know you are a client of Trusted Solid,” he said as he handed her a poster. “Rusty Oaks is a rough neighborhood, but we’ll keep an eye on your place and keep it safe.”
The three men pushed into the room and surrounded the man in burnt orange. He was taller than any of them, but they probably outweighed him 4 to 1. “Dis guy botherin’ you, ma’am? Don’t look like he’s from around here.” The biggest of the three started off talking to her, then turned to the man in the trench coat. “You better take off, buddy. Dis lady don need no useless uptown Fancy Dans like you around here.”
“Good evening, gentlemen,“ the store manager seemed perfectly at ease, despite being in the middle of a group of much larger men. “The store is closed for the day. If you have business to transact, can you come back tomorrow… when the sign on the door says ‘Open’?” Her tone of voice changed pointedly over the last few words.
Derby, the largest of the three men in suits, was thinking fast. Dis could be a problem, but da boss likes guys what solve their own problems. Discreepily. “Sorry, lady. Sure, we’ll be back t’mra.” He turned to the man in the trench coat. “You comin, Fancy Dan?” It was supposed to sound like an order.
As ‘Fancy Dan’ replied, he pushed back his wide-brim hat, and the others could see that he was wearing a domino mask. “My name’s Oxide, boys. In fact, I’m on my way out to dinner; thought I’d try the Blackthorn. Hear it’s the best meal in Rusty Oaks. Could you give me directions?”
“We’se going that way, in fact,” Darby replied with a wide smile. “Stick with us, we’ll getcha there.”
Oxide tipped his hat to the store manager. “Best of the day to you, Miss Emerson. Have a nice evening and don’t worry about your store any longer - Trusted Solid is on the job.”
The three men weren’t much for conversation. Colt threw out a conversation starter, but it pretty much fell flat.
“I sure appreciate you guys showing me around,” he began. “I grew up in West Iron…” (A neighborhood on the other side of Steel City) “…and I’ve been away from Steel City for years.”
“You look like a Westy,” one of the shorter men responded, and it sounded like an insult. Darby broke in quickly.
“Dis way,” he tugged on Colt’s arm, toward the mouth of an alley. “Short cut, saves us about three blocks…” Oxide turned obediently and the four men walked into the alley. A few seconds later, anyone near the mouth of the alley might have heard the sounds of Derby and his team discreepily dealing with their problem. Some muffled whacks, and then several much louder thumps, and then, not so discretely, a single gun shot, a loud grunt, a crack that suggested a kick to a jaw, and another thump.
Colt walked easily out of the alley. He tossed three pistols onto the street near the sewer grating, pulled out a strange looking pistol (which we’ve seen before…), aimed it at the guns on the pavement and swung the barrel back and forth over then for about 10 seconds.. The gray steel of the guns changed color, becoming duller and darker. “I suppose there’s plenty more where those came from,” he spoke ruefully, “but you gotta start somewhere…” He kicked the three now-useless pistols through the sewer grate.
“Part one and done, rich kid,” Colt reported through his radio. “Don’t worry, I left the big guy awake. They’ll know I’m comin’ before I get there.” He paused for a second. “Assumin he’s smart enough to call in… His boss ain’t gonna be happy with him.”
“He’ll probably figure out that she’d be a lot less happy with him if she finds out he knew you were coming and he didn’t warn her,” David replied through the radio.
“I still don’t like this plan, Dennis. You know I’ll be walking into a trap.”
“Yeah, we got ‘em just where we want them!”
”Easy for you to say, at the other end of the radio,” Oxide was sarcastic. “Well, let’s get it over with!” He strode off down the street, in the direction of the Blackthorn Drinking and Eating Establishment.
Derby Calls In
“Big guy, dark trench coat, wearing a mask, with 3 or 4 other guys backin’ him up .” Derby gasped into the pay phone. He couldn’t tell them he and his team had been taken out by one guy. “Dey was shakin down da broad runnin’ dat new store. Said they was gonna stop at the Blackthorn next. Oughta be der in 5 minutes.” He hung up; he and his boys needed to go see the gang sawbones before they got involved in any more fun.
There's Only Ony Guy
“There’s only the one guy,” the hastily-stationed lookout reported from the payphone a couple blocks down the street from the Blackthorn. “Pretty big, and he could be packin under that trench coat. But nobody with him or following him, far as I can tell. They mighta gone around the block - more likely, Derby’s fulla crap.”
As Colt passed the phone booth, two big men left the shadows and stepped to either side of him. Colt wasn’t surprised; they hadn’t been nearly as well hidden as they thought. He was a bit curious about what they might say, but he decided it was better for him to take the initiative. “You’re Heckle and you’re Jeckle, right? Sorry, never been able to tell you guys apart.”
“You’ll pay for that smartass remark, punk.” That was the one he’d called Heckle.
“Sorry, boys, I’m selling tonight, not buying. Protection against high doctor bills, in your case. Interested?”
Jeckle grabbed him and tried to drag him into another alley. “Hoos gonna pay d’undertaker for you, smart guy?”
“Bad investment choice,” Oxide mocked. He surprised Jeckle by surging ahead rather than struggling, breaking free, lowering his shoulder, and bowling over the two toughs already waiting in the alley. He turned to face his original startled assailants. “Surprise - I figured Chip and Dale were waiting for me. Odds up to 4 on 1, eh? Bruno would just love this!” ‘Time to see if Oxide’s better than Iron was.’
Unless they knocked him down or got past him, the narrow alley would make it difficult for more than two of them to attack at once. On the other hand, he didn’t have much room to dodge. It might be a good time to try out some of the other functions of ‘Bruno’s Ray Gun’.
'Bruno’s Ray Gun', the Oxidation Pistol, probably had once had much more functionality, when it had been created in the ancient Atlantean civilization. Inside the body of the pistol there was a block of silicon with wires attached to it that Bruno claimed probably had millions of tiny transistors embedded in it, and some of that block was damaged. What was left drove a ray gun that could affect oxidation. Since oxidation is the basic reaction that sustains life, the gun could have been a literal death ray, but they had tested it extensively and the invisible rays it emitted had no observable affect on anything alive. So Oxide couldn’t just stop the chemical reactions in the cells in a human body, for instance, or prevent hemoglobin from binding to oxygen; the gun wasn’t a death ray after all. But he could use it to produce some pretty impressive effects.
Almost everything will oxidize, in the right circumstance. The rays of the Bruno Gun somehow affected the tendency of things to oxidize - basically, it could be adjusted to totally prevent oxidation, or to force almost anything to oxidize. And cause that oxidation to occur right now, rather than over some extended period of time. Fast oxidation usually involves the release of light and heat, and after a lot of experimenting, the team had learned how to utilize those effects.
Colt spun a dial on the gun with his thumb, pulled the trigger and waved the barrel in an arc in front of his four attackers - and every tiny particle of dust in that volume of air flashed into a tiny flame as it was forced to oxidize instantly. The combined flash was brighter than a flashbulb; the heat not enough to ignite their clothes or cause blisters. Tiny shutters in Oxide’s mask, again courtesy of Bruno, protected him from the flash, and he instantly he took advantage of his momentarily dazzled opponents.
“I could almost feel like a bum slugging blinded guys if I didn’t know how much worse you guys are. Seen some pictures of your victims; don’t doubt they were helpless when you were beatin em.” A couple of haymakers to the jaws of Chip and Dale, a spinning kick to Heckle’s jaw, and a knee to the groin for Jeckle, and four bodies thumped to the filthy pavement of the alley, three of them unconscious and Jeckle moaning in agony. Colt reversed the pistol and whacked him on the back of the head, and then the alley was quiet.
Oh Crap!
“Da twins pushed him inta the alley where Shiv and Little Al are waiting. Dail take care of dis quick.” A moment of silence, a gasp, more silence, then… “Crap, dey didn’t even slow dis guy down. *#&@*, he’s comin’ dis way. Hail, Mary, fulla grace… hey, DON”T SHOOT!” Some rattling and banging that must have been the dropped handset banging against the glass walls of the phone booth, a whack and a thump, and then a crash as the handset was slammed into the cradle.
Warm Welcome
The attractive evening hostess of the Blackthorn disappeared instantly from behind her stand in the lobby through the hanging bead curtain to the office and then out the back door when Oxide exploded through the front door of the club. Despite its location in such a rough neighborhood, she’d so far been pretty much insulated from any dangerous goings on in the club and didn’t have any interest in becoming better acquainted.
The big, rough-looking bouncer always stationed at the entrance had his gun out but the invader totally ignored that danger. “You’d better turn around and just walk out, buddy, or they’ll be carrying you out.”
“Sure, so you can shoot me in the back. Not likely. Go tell your boss that Oxide’s here from Trusted Solid, and I want to talk about Protection.” He took a step closer as he talked.
This guy had gone through Derby’s team and the bouncer's normal backups, the twins, then Shiv and Little Al, like they were nothing. Tahley was tough, but he knew when he was outmatched, and he wasn’t going to fool around with this guy. He pulled the trigger on his silenced revolver three times, phwitt, phwitt, phwitt, three slugs slammed into Oxide’s chest, thud, thud thud, jolting him backward, and three slugs fell to the floor, plunk, plunk,… plunk (the last one got tangled in his coat for half a second). Colt recovered and surged forward, knocking the stunned shooter’s arm to the side and his gun from his hand, and then he was around behind the guy with his arm around his neck and his own gun pressed against the temple of the startled bouncer.
”Let’s start this over, bonehead. I want to see the boss…”
The hanging beads rustled and Oxide risked a look - a woman was stepping through from the office. She had seemingly been poured into a skin-tight black gown that glittered with sequins and showed off every curve. Her lustrous black hair dropped to her bare shoulder and was artfully draped to conceal one eye. Even without her 4” heels, Colt estimated that she would be at least 5’8” tall. Her lips were full and a dark, mysterious red, her movements graceful; her voice low and a little rough, reminding him of the contented rumbling of a jaguar purring. Her scent was subliminally subtle, initially barely noticeable, reaching across the room and slipping through his senses until suddenly it pulsed powerfully in the pleasure and danger centers of his brain. Without even noticing his action, Colt reeled backward a step, as if he had been jolted by a powerful jab to the head.
“Please release Mr. Tahley, Mr. Oxide. Surely there is no need for violence to mar the beginning of what could be a mutually satisfactory business discussion.”
“Tallzee, here, shot me,” Oxide growled back. “I suppose you start all your business discussions the same way?”
“Only when the other party barges into my club, scares the hell out of my hostess, and assaults another of my employees, Mr. Oxide,” her voice dropped in volume so he had to lean closer to hear. She leaned toward him as well, and suddenly he was reminded of just how low-cut was her decolletage. “Please step into my office, and let’s try and start over again.”
Colt released Tahley, waved his gun at Tahley’s pistol lying on the floor against the wall. “Beat it, bonehead, the boss and I have business.” Tahley was out through the front door in a flash. Oxide turned to the woman. “You know who I am - who the hell are you?”
Sloe Sizzle
She held our her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Oxide. I’m Sloe Sizzle, the owner of the Blackthorn.”
Colt almost smiled in momentary appreciation of her name. “The deadly berry of the Blackthorn… appropriate.” Her hand was hot and caressed his own as they shook hands.
“Please have a seat, Mr. Oxide,” she flopped down on the wide black leather sofa, trying to draw him down next to her. When he resisted, she released his hand and flopped backward onto the sofa, almost reclining. He moved to the desk and seated himself on the corner. “Well, well, a man who does things his own way. Well, if you change your mind, don’t hesitate to make yourself comfortable.” She spread her hands. “So this protection you are trying to sell me - is that protection from you?”
“Not selling anything, Miss Sizzle. I’m here to shut down your protection racket.”
“Why Mr. Oxide, you hardly know me well enough to accuse me of doing something sinful. I’m not, you know, just an innocent girl trying to run an honest business.” She looked him over closely. “Well, maybe not all that innocent… And I could use a big, strong, forceful man like you as a partner.”
“Your bouncer just tried to kill me,” he replied.
“Are you going to hold that against me forever?” she asked sulkily. “I didn’t tell him to, but I’ll fire him if you like.” She stood up, exposing a breathtaking expanse of leg in the process, stepped closer, slipped her hand under his coat to rest on his chest, and leaned in until her eyes were only inches from his, her enticing scent surrounding him. “Or maybe there’s some other way I can make it up to you?” Her breath was moist and hot against his lips. He couldn’t see her other hand slip under the corner of the desk.
‘Something behind me!’ Colt spun quickly as a quiet mechanical whirring somehow pushed aside the veil of his bemusement Sloe Sizzle had drawn over him. High on the wall, a cuckoo popped out of a clock. Colt relaxed for an instant, but then noticed the hands on the clock. ‘Shoulda chirped a few minutes ago, not now! A distraction!’
He spun again, looking for Sizzle, but the beads in the door to the lobby were swinging wildly and there was no trace of but for her lingering scent. He whirled at another sound, again behind him, the scrape of a panel in the rear wall of the office, sliding open. Several big men, brandishing a variety of weapons, were already pushing eagerly through the still-widening entrance.
In a single fluid motion, Colt swept his hat from his head and scaled it hard across the room toward the face of the lead rusher. Seeing something flying towards his eyes, the big guy slammed on the brakes and threw up his hands to shield his face. The big guy behind him ran into him, and then the big guy behind him crashed into them, and the three were knocked to the floor, temporarily impeding the rush of the others behind them. Colt took advantage of the confusion to pull his ray gun, spin a couple of dials with his thumb, and fired.
There were so many different settings for the oxidation ray that Bruno had theorized that the damaged lump of silicon must have been circuitry that was controlled by the gun-bearer’s mind. The relatively primitive controls he’d grafted onto the advanced Atlantean marvel only provided Colt with about a dozen choices, and he was well practiced in making his selection. This time he chose laughing gas. He'd drawn a deep breath before he fired.
At full power, wide dispersion, the ray forced the molecules of about half of the gaseous oxygen in the two small rooms to dissociate and combine with nitrogen molecules, creating a brief flash of heat and momentarily flooding that space with nitrous oxide. It would dissipate quickly through normal air circulation but for the next few minutes, anyone breathing in those two rooms would quickly become woozy and pass out.
Colt took two quick steps froward, recovered his hat from the writhing pile of bad guys, and then pushed through the hanging beads. If the tough guys were still here when he got back, he’d wrap them up, but he was after bigger game, their boss. In an instant, though, the evening’s mission turned from a (wo)manhunt to a frantic rescue mission.
He was trying to guess whether she’d gone into the club proper or out the door when he was knocked off his feet as one wall of the lobby exploded into flames. From the ground, he forced himself to sit up and concentrate on his training, then spun the selector on his pistol and fired another full dispersion, full power burst at the flaming wall. The flames died instantly as the ray completely suppressed all non-living oxidation in its cone. But the burst from his pistol only lasted about two seconds, and there were still places on the wall that were hot enough to catch fire again as soon as the ray cut off. The renewed flames were initially much less fierce than they had been, but they were stubborn. There was now screaming coming from within the club, and people were starting to fight through the door and swarm through the lobby. He couldn’t go back inside that way!
So, he took another deep breath and went back into the office, where he picked up a chair and bashed out the window. He couldn’t spare the time to drag the toughs outside, but the incoming air might revive them in time to save their own lives. He slammed open the other door, which put him in a hallway, and was almost knocked down by a couple of escaping bartenders. The hall let him out behind the bar; he hopped over into the barroom, one wall of which was engulfed in flames.
‘She must have had remote control firebombs built into the walls, just to cover her escape’, he thought in horror.
Again he fired, and for an instant, the vicious flames were snuffed out, and again, as soon as his ray went out, the hot spots caught fire again. But the reviving flames were less fierce than they had been - he’d bought some time. And by now the bar was empty.
He rushed into the main dining room, and used up the remaining power in his gun temporarily putting out flames as the last of the diners pushed their way out of the room and the building. He made sure he was the last person to exit the dining room, then pushed back into the office, grabbed one of the still-recovering men and dragged him to the front door. A couple firemen ran to aid him. Dropping the rescued man, he led the firefighters back to the office, where they started herding the rest of the stunned and still docile bad guys toward safety. When he reached the street again, he saw that the firefighters had the scene relatively under control, so he faded into the shadows.
‘Sloe Sizzle has escaped this time,’ he thought ruefully, but then cheered up. ‘Don’t doubt this’ll shut down her her protection racket. She won’t be shaking down anyone in Rusted Oaks, at least for a while. And if she tries it again, why, I’ll be around to shut her down. A pretty good debut night’s work for Oxide, the Steel City Stalwart!’