Author Notes: For the subsequent chapters I will write a short summary of what has happened in the previous chapter. For now, by simply following what occurs within, you will be caught up.

The Green Hornet

In

"The Color of Hate"

by R. Cruz

The following is an original story by this author employing characters

created and copyrighted by George W. Trendel.

Based in part on the T.V. show

The Green Hornet 1966 Ó 20th Century Fox Television – Greenway Productions

Another challenge for the Green Hornet, his aide Kato and their rolling arsenal the Black Beauty! On police records a wanted criminal, the Green Hornet is really Britt Reid, owner publisher of the Daily Sentinel, his dual identity known only to his secretary and the District Attorney.

And now to protect the right and lives of decent citizens --- rides the Green Hornet!

Chapter Two

"Evil triumphs…"

"And we're back in five…four…three…two…"

The portly director pointed his right hand at the television camera, while moving behind it. Right on cue the African American female news anchor focused her eyes directly into the camera's lens.

"And now coming to you live with his weekly editorial, the Daily Sentinel's owner and publisher, Mr. Britt Reid."

The camera then spotlighted Britt's face as he flashed a handsome smile, which seemed to fill the screen. Although it was a rehearsed one, nonetheless, it still radiated warmth and sincerity.

"Good evening.

"Late last Friday night the warehouse district became ground zero for violence between Anthony Manzanetti, alleged gangster and drug dealer and the notorious Green Hornet. Thanks to the swift intervention of the city's Anti-Organized Crime Unit, working in conjunction with the District Attorney's office, we can report that no lives were lost despite evidence of heavy gunfire. Anthony Manzanetti is currently in police custody under heavy guard, while the Green Hornet has eluded capture and is currently at large.

"For now the city's streets are safe. But I can't help but wonder, for how long? A few days? A week? A month? How long before, once again, the sound of gunfire disturbs the tranquility of our minds, forcing us to live like prisoners in our own homes?

"In this instance the cavalry arrived in time but what about the next time? What or who will come to save an innocent bystander when he or she is caught in the crossfire between two warring gangs? Does there need to be a tragedy like that to force us into action and claim what is rightfully ours?

"And what is rightfully ours, you ask?

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am talking about peace of mind. I am speaking about the right for decent, tax paying, law abiding citizens to walk the streets at night. Streets without violence! Safe neighborhoods and sidewalks entire families can stroll on anytime of the day or night without looking over their shoulders.

"Some say, 'That's what the police are for!' But the police can't do it alone. They need our help. By establishing neighborhood watch groups or volunteering time at police precincts, we fortify community relationships between our city's finest and the people they have sworn to serve and protect. Citizens should know the cops on the neighborhood beat by name. This is the foundation we must begin with, if we are to seriously reclaim our city from the gang lords and hoodlums.

"My father once taught me an old saying, 'Evil triumphs when good men do nothing.'

"The evil some men harbor in their hearts is a reality. Their criminal acts another. You could argue that it is what makes us human and that unfortunately, it exists and always will. But criminals like Anthony Manzanetti and the Green Hornet also thrive because of our apathy. And while their desire to do harm is human nature and cannot be changed, it can be controlled. We CAN keep it in check!

"But we MUST become more pro-active. Strengthening our lines of communication and volunteering with the police is a step in the right direction. But when a crime is being committed, it is our civic duty to report it – immediately!

"Another sure way to improve our quality of life is taking some time, either today or tomorrow and investing it in learning the name of a face you see everyday. Socialize and talk with your neighbors. Remember we ALL share this city. Working together we can do it.

"When we become involved we become protectors of our own rights and lives. And in the end, we will have the criminals living in fear and looking over THEIR shoulders.

"The number you see now on your screens will direct you to the volunteer center nearest to you. Give them a call. Start making a difference. Thank you ladies and gentlemen and good night."

"Dan Reid - Elder Statesman"

Leonore Case – Casey to her friends – knocked softly on the door to Britt Reid's office before entering, as always. She found her employer with his broad back facing her, staring at the portrait of his parents that hung on the far wall. Typical of the elder Reids' style, the painting did not display them in the customary position, husband and wife standing seriously beside each other. No, Britt's parents' were captured hugging and laughing like two teenagers deeply in love.

The painter had expertly captured their bright spirit and happiness. It had been a gift from them to Britt on his eighteenth birthday.

While she stood silently observing her employer, the secretary's deep brown eyes could not help but notice that he was unconsciously rubbing his right shoulder. It was the "wound". Casey grit her teeth, recalling the tale of how he obtained it.

This isn't a good sign, she mulled.

"I just stepped in to tell you that I was about to leave, Britt," she broke the silence, using his first name only when they were alone. A habit she never broke in front of Daily Sentinel employees. "Unless you need to talk."

"I've been thinking a lot about Dad these past few days," Britt replied softly.

Casey knew from past experience that the best thing for Britt when he was in a pensive mood was to let him talk, "Really? That would explain your reference to him during your editorial."

"You know, I really don't like doing those things," Britt began feeling more at ease. Not only because he basked in the warmth of her open and honest friendship but also because she had a priceless ability to know how to simply listen.

"At times I wonder, what's the point? Do the people in this city even really care what I have to say?" he continued, as his shoulders slumped slightly.

"You place the issues straight onto the people's lap," Casey added, while resting a hand softly on his right shoulder. "The point is, you remind them that what happens in the city affects us all and they have the power to change things."

"Dad was so much better at this than I am," he said with a tiny smile escaping the corner of his mouth. "His friends used to call him 'Dan Reid – Elder Statesman', although never to his face." Britt pointed in direction of the TV studio. "He never got to see me do one. I wonder what he would say."

"Britt, what's wrong?" Casey grew worried. "It's been awhile since I've seen you like this."

"It's Dinah," Britt replied and immediately regretted it.

"Oh, really," she replied icily, while her jaw tightened slightly and an eyebrow rose. It was a subtle sign of jealousy.

"I went out with Dinah Morrison, Mike's goddaughter on Saturday. Dinner, dancing, we talked and nothing else happened," Reid added for good measure.

"Go on," Casey said evenly.

Britt made a mental note to send for flowers and have them delivered to her desk early tomorrow as a peace offering, "Uh … anyway, she knew me from back in my college student days. She commented on how much I had changed. 'Angry and lost'," she said. The exact words Dad used to describe me..."

##

The two combatants sparred fiercely in a small section of the spacious garden on the Reid's family estate. Both were sheltered from plain view by the lush vegetation of bushes and tall trees. The student, using swift jabs aimed towards the body of his opponent tried his best to break his master's defenses but was finding it a frustrating task, impossible at best.

"You're letting your thoughts wander. Concentrate!" the master encouraged.

Yeah, easy for you to say, his pupil mulled.

As if he was reading his pupil's mind, the kung-fu master's hands lunged past his student's weak parry and with lightning speed slapped him behind his head.

This blow embarrassed the young man and enraged him. Now, throwing all caution to the wind and with a loud cry echoing off the garden's wall, he mounted a formidable offensive. His hands were a blur as he combined jabs to the face and chest with kicks aimed at his teacher's shins and thighs. The pupil even began to gain ground, forcing his teacher back but his anger also made him reckless.

Sensing an opportunity to turn the tide, the master blocked and then grabbed a swift spinning kick, locking it with his arm. He then followed up his defense with a short sweep of his legs tripping the younger man and making him land hard onto the grass with his back.

"That's enough for today, Wong." Kato announced.

"Yes, Sifu," his student mumbled as he rose, rubbing his sore back. Both then saluted each other officially ending the sparring practice.

"Anger is a strong emotion --- explosive! When you draw from it, it is an ally that adds power to your attack. But never forget: It is useful only if you have control of it! Fail that and the battle is lost before it has even begun."

"Yes, Sifu." Wong replied.

"You're doing well. Each time you grow more," Kato added with a smile of encouragement, "Now, off with you. Mr. Reid will be home soon and I must prepare for his arrival."

Suddenly Wong's face clouded with a look that Kato had become familiar with. He had seen this expression on the face of his student before and, until now, had never addressed the subject.

Perhaps today I should finally put this issue to rest.

"Did I say something wrong, Wong?" Kato's pupil hung his head for a brief moment, ashamed to face his master's. For a few heartbeats he stood silent, then finally Wong found the courage to speak what was in his heart.

"Why Sifu? Why do you … serve … this Caucasian? It is so … humiliating!" Wang spat, "You are honored and revered within our community. You are a Grand Master of Kung-Fu and a great teacher!"

"And my 'standing' in the community, my vast ability in martial arts should make me … ah … better than him? I am at least important enough …no …worthy enough that it should be HE serving me, instead? Is that how you feel?"

"Well, yes! In my eyes, yes!"

Kato snuck out his arm and before his pupil realized it, slapped behind his head again.

"Wha … what?" Wong stammered, "Sifu, why ---?"

"Now that I'm sure I have your attention. I want you to listen closely. I am going to tell you a tale that began a few years ago. And it is a story about fathers and sons…"

TO BE CONTINUED…