October 11, 1936.
The autumn chill that day had brought on a thick fog over New York's famous Brooklyn Bridge. A Ford's headlights broke through the fog just enough to see ahead for the driver. It slowly pulled up and parked itself along the opposite curb, across two other identical cars. The driver got out, looked both ways, and quietly shut the door behind him.
The other men who were standing did not see the driver on the other side of the bridge. All they could see is the red-orange glow of his cigarette coming towards them. Out of the fog completely, the mysterious driver stepped. He wore a light tan trench coat with a matching wide-brimmed hat. The onlookers across the street could not see his facial features until the small cigarette burned hot enough to shed a little light to his identity.
"Well, the Yankees beat em," said the mysterious man. "Now pay up!"
"We. Can't," a timid young man said. "Betting on the World Series with our last ounce of currency was our family's only hope."
Steven Whipple was a poor gentleman who never quite could pick himself up after the crash seven years earlier. His bookie, Jono Marchessi, who also had ties to the underground, had his cronies hold Mr. Whipple at bay while he stared a long gaze into his face.
"If you can't pay up then," said the chain-smoking crime boss, "how am I supposed to be reimbursed from my obvious bad investment."
See, Jono had even tried to sabotage the last game of the World Series. He may have even gotten to pull it off, had it not been for The Shadow to foil his well-conceived plan. With Shadow special agent, the Yankees player had tipped off the Shadow of Jono's plan. As Jono stomped out his old cigarette and lit up a new one, he thought he heard one of his men laugh.
"Hey, Bobby, what's so funny?" Jono asked.
"I dunno', Jono. I didn't laugh." the henchman retorted.
At that instant the laugh got louder. It seemed to come from all around, yet it came from nowhere. Then the laugh got even more audible, more maniacal. Then the laugh spoke.
"Nobody likes a bully, Jonathon Marchessi. Crime does not pay!"
"Boss," said the scared other thug, "I think that's the Shadow. He knows. He ALWAYS knows!"
"Yea, well this time he will get his! This is the last he meddles in my gambling ring."
"Don't forget your liquor stash!" Bobby assertively added.
The thugs heard the laugh again. It was louder this time, and it seemed to come from everywhere. Jono felt a hard punch find his jaw, hitting him again the other way, knocking him on his back.
"You tried to fix the world series, Marchessi, now you were going to extort the poor to pay you back," accused the laughing voice.
"Augh," clutched the worried Marchessi, "you don't have a thing on me! You can't prove anything!"
"Oh, yes I can, because if you don't turn yourself in, Jono, I'll haunt you for the rest of your miserable days!" the invisible vigilante threatened.
"You don't scare me you two-bit punk," Jono yelled. "I've got control over most of the liquor that gets sold in this city. You couldn't possibly get to it all!"
The Shadow's only response was his viscous laugh. He then whispered, "So do you sow evil, so shall you reap evil. The Shadow knows!"
The invisible hero then whipped several forearm shots to the head of Jono, and sent him crashing to the concrete. The vigilante then laughed once again as it seemed to echo everywhere.
The dark hero then appeared standing over the unconscious gang boss and threw a cold stare over to Jono's thug, Bobby. Fearing what would happen to him, Bobby took off in the other direction.
Steven Whipple was just as shocked as Bobby was. He stood there with his mouth hanging and shivering in fear. He wanted to say thank you to his mysterious savior for rescuing him from the wrath of Marchessi, but no sound left his lips.
"Go home to your family, Steven," said the Shadow. "You will find a healthy donation that will help you get back on your feet."
By that time, the sirens of the police cars were getting closer. The Shadow will have to leave Jono to the authorities. After all, the Shadow did get the information that he needed prior to his showdown with Boss Marchessi.
The familiar yellow cab pulled up to where the Shadow was standing. He got in and spoke in a raspy voice, "Smithton High-rise."
The yellow cab that the Shadow was riding in was driven by one of his most loyal agents, Moe Shrevnitz. The cabby was one of the few people in the world who knew the Shadow's true identity. If it were not for the Shadow's mediation, Moe wouldn't be alive today.
The cab pulled up to the looming high-rise that was located further in the city. The Shadow's night was not finished. He knew where to find the kegs of illegal liquor.
"Pull around to the back alley and wait for me there, Shrevy," said the Shadow.
The shadow stealthy made his way into the front door by once again hiding his visage in the darkness. He glided his way through the lobby looking for anyone around. He found that the building had been closed for the night. The rather fancy Smithton building was the home to a New York accounting firm. Their only crime was that Jono Marchessi used it as a front for his criminal empire.
The Shadow glided up the stairs to the 21st floor. He moved as if he were nothing but a gust of wind. The Shadow inspected the doors of the offices, finding no one else in sight. It was possible that some insomniac work addict had been working late at night.
The Shadow then came to what appeared to be a simple broom closet on the outside. But on the inside, it housed the homemade whiskey, gin and beer. The Shadow carefully turned the doorknob and crept in.
The room was filled with kegs marked in red. Whiskey, gin, and beer. The Shadow then pulled his twin silver-plated .45's from the side holsters. With a thought, The Shadow had opened fire on the kegs of alcohol, leaving them to gush out and spill on the floor.
The Shadow was enjoying what he was doing. He fired viciously in all directions, smashing what was left of Jono Marchessi's crime syndicate. He even performed his trademark laugh, knowing that justice was being done. Just then, the Shadow had caught a glimpse of something in his peripheral vision. Its looming presence seemed to creep over top of him.
It cast a large shadow on the walls, swooping quickly toward its intended prey. The Shadow did not see the actual figure, for it closed in on him, pushing the dark vigilante through the window.
The Shadow fell from the twenty first-story window, in what seemed to be his horrifying demise. Just before he hit the window, he did catch a glimpse of his surprise attacker. He'd never forget it. It would haunt him on his decent to the sidewalk pavement below. It was a bat. A giant, ominous, "bat-like" looking creature.
If only Shrevy came to the rescue in time.
Just about when the Shadow was going to hit the pavement, something magical happened. A swirling portal opened on the sidewalk where the Shadow was about to hit. Instead of going splat in an untimely demise, the Shadow was sent through a mystical portal whose destination was unknown.