The Secret Adventures of Orson Welles
Disclaimer: The rights to Orson Welles are currently owned by himself, despite his being dead. The rights to The Shadow are currently owned by Dynamite Entertainment.
1937
The crisp fall air caused a swirl of leaves to blow down the bustling streets of New York City. Neon lights painted the streets and walkers with bright glows of color, as citizens hurried home to dinner, appointments or whatever event kept them out in the chilling November air. A light snow began to flurry its way onto people's heads, giving many reason to hurry on the way before the flurry turned into an eventual storm. As he stepped from the stage door of the Mercury Theatre, Orson Welles looked up at the light snowfall, felt the wind chill its way down his back. This gave him pause as he locked the stage door and headed into the night. He turned with a satisfied sigh, and drew his coat collar up as a breeze blew down the alley. Things had been going Welles' way of that there was no doubt. Julius Caesar had opened in November to a slew of positive press. Orson felt it was the beginning of good things for him and his Mercury Theatre players, but he was finding it difficult to divide his time between the theatre and doing the various radio shows people were asking him to be a part of.
Spotting a pay phone, he entered and closed the door, dropped in a nickel and dialed. The phone rang, and then an operator's voice asked him for the number he wished to call. "Yes, get me extension 3766 please", Welles said. The operator asked him to hold, and in a few seconds a familiar voice was on the line.
"Yes, hello who is this?" The voice of Walter Gibson caused the phone to crackle with a burst of static.
"Walter old man!"
"Orson? Well what's up?"
"I was wondering if you had time to grab dinner, and maybe discuss the new script for next week's broadcast?"
"Sure. In fact, I have a few pages of it typed up already."
"Wonderful. Bring them with you. You feeling up to, say, a quick bite at Sardi's?"
Walter said that would be excellent, and with that Welles hung up. He whistled for a cab, hopped in the next one that stopped at the curb.
"Where to mack?"
"West 44th Street. This should cover the fare." He handed the cabbie a crisp ten dollar bill. The cabbie gunned his engine and spun the tires. Within seconds they were speeding down the street, when for no reason, the cab changed directions and began heading in the direction of Midtown. Welles looked around in confusion.
"Excuse me, but this is the wrong way. Where are you taking me?"
Just then, the door on the right swung open and a man dressed all in black with a slouch hat perched on his head and red scarf tied about his face jumped in.
He clutched at his right arm, his sharp blue eyes clenched with pain. Looking at Orson and then at the cabbie, the man spoke, in a voice that was low and cold, with no emotion in it.
"Moe, I need you to get me to the usual place. I made a stupid mistake tonight, exposed myself."
"Sure thing chief. But what about this guy?"
"Bring him with. I will deal with him."
As the cab continued down the street, Welles stared at the man, his eyes growing wide with amazement.
"You, you're the Shadow! But I thought you were just a character in those pulps Walter writes."
"That is the pretense that I wish to be kept. I contacted Mr. Gibson years ago to write variations of my cases, so that I could fight against crime without much public exposure. It has served me well. And you serve me too Orson Welles."
"You know me?"
The Shadow laughed, a laugh that was chilling and filled with mirth. "I would not think there was a man alive in New York who did not know you Mr. Welles. Your theatrical performances are well spoken of, as is your portrayal of me on the radio. It has allowed my existence to be cast into further doubt, giving me an even greater advantage over criminal scum."
The cab stopped in front of tall walk in front of a tall walk up, a grimy building that had a dismal look about it. The Shadow exited the cab, pulling Orson with him. They walked into the alley near the building. The Shadow stopped, tapped three bricks in order, and a door opened in a wall, with a set of stairs descending into the darkness. Both men stepped into the black abyss, the door closing behind them.
Bright lights made Orson shield his eyes, and after taking a moment to adjust, he stared around him at a vast underground lair, with a large library and laboratory taking up a corner of the room, and a series of small glass tubes running into an alcove where a panel with various switches and knobs was placed.
The Shadow crossed the room in an instant, pulled a panel down from the wall and retrieved a pair of tweezers and some gauze. Orson joined him, watching as this legendary night stalker grimaced with visible pain as the tweezers dug into his shoulder, then gasped as he pulled a bullet from his shoulder. Welles jumped in, and helped to wrap the wound with the gauze. Taking him by the shoulder, Welles helped him into an armchair. The Shadow paused for a moment, took a deep breath and spoke.
"Thank you for that Mr. Welles. By now you must understand that after showing you all this, I cannot allow you to leave without first altering your memory of this. No one has ever seen my headquarters before, not even my agents."
"Well I can certainly see why, this place is impressive."
The Shadow stood, and crossed to the tubes, opening one and retrieving a small message from within. Quickly scanning the message, he walked back to the shelves of books and pulled out one particularly large tome. Reading through several pages before discarding it, the Shadow walked over to Orson.
"Mr. Welles, the time has come for us to part company. I will allow you to retain your memories of this visit, if only because I know you to be an honest man from Walter's point of view, and can be trusted to not reveal this secret to anyone. Now come, I will have Moe take you to wherever you need to be."
Exiting the underground lair, the Shadow closed the hidden door behind him, and both entered Moe's cab again.
They drove several blocks before Moe stopped again. The Shadow exited the cab, but turned, and stuck out his hand. Orson shook it and smiled. Then with a swirl of his cloak, the Shadow disappeared into the night. And with that, Moe drove off once more.
As Orson stepped from the cab into Sardi's, he spotted Walter, sitting at a table and looking rather sour. Walking over, he slapped his friend on the back, apologized for his lateness and ordered a large plate of sandwich's to start them off.
Later that week, Welles stopped by a newsstand to pick up the latest copy of the Times and saw a brand new Shadow pulp novel on the magazine rack. He paid for a copy and continued down the street. As he walked, he bumped into a man, and turning to apologize, and briefly stared into a piercing pair of blue eyes.
The man turned and walked away and Orson followed him, and then lost him as he turned down an alley. Looking all around, he couldn't see the blue eyed stranger, and turning to leave, heard the sinister laughter of the Shadow break through the air.