II
Lucky Duncan absently rubbed the worn plastic disk between his fingers.
Embedded in it was a four-leaf clover. Not an artificial one that some factory had
put together out of pieces of different plants but a real one he had pulled free from
the cracks of the sidewalk in front of the rat-infested tenement that his family had
called home. After a hot winning streak he had left home at the age of sixteen,
never looking back. He had been lucky ever since, never giving thought to those
he had left behind. Nor had anyone at home ever thought about him either.
He looked down the empty street in front of the Happy Time bar before he
stepped out of his car. He was an hour early in order to check out the place while
there was still some light left. Wrightman had told him to keep his nose clean and
not to do any gambling. Lucky shrugged. A few hands of poker weren't going to
hurt anything. He was feeling lucky tonight. Of course careful planning always
helped the luck, so he carefully noted any avenues of a quick getaway in case of a
raid.
It had been a long time since the tilted martini glass on the bar's peeling
neon sign had last poured its electric bubbly. So long ago, in fact, that the red
letters of the large For Sale sign pounded into the overgrown planter had faded to
an anemic pink. The front door was boarded over and had been plastered over
with campaign posters from some election years ago. Lucky tried the door anyway,
just in case, but found it solidly locked.
He studied the front a few more minutes then shoving his hands into his
pockets, he walked to the rear of the building. The weed-covered gravel parking
lot in back looked as desolate as the front. Yellowed pieces of paper were stuck in
the branches of weeds and about their bases. Rusted beer cans and broken bottles
were scattered all over the empty lot. Lucky kicked at a large piece of newspaper
and watched idly as a small dust devil snatched at it, blowing it around in a lazy
circle. Lucky checked his watch. There was still plenty of time to take a look
around inside before the game started.
Although the back door seemed to be as solidly boarded up as the front one,
Lucky's contact had told him otherwise. Just like the Chinese sailor had told him,
the nails in the boards covering the door did not go completely through into the
frame. He shot a quick glance around him, making sure that no one was watching.
Then he opened the door cautiously, cringing when the rusty hinges creaked in
protest.
The dim light that streamed past Lucky showed a short hallway that led to a
cavernous room in which he could barely see the ghostly outlines of a few
scattered tables and chairs. To his left was a short alcove containing a pay phone
and two doors, one of which was marked Gents, the other marked Dames. A pair
of swinging doors on his right led to the kitchen. Lucky wrinkled his nose at the
stench coming from the kitchen. No one had bothered cleaning up when the place
had closed years ago.
Knowing that it would not make sense to hold a poker game by candlelight,
Lucky reached for the light switch. He drew his hand back with a slight snicker. A
great idea had come to him. Why not wait for the others in the dark? That way he
could surprise them when they came in. It might be just enough to give him the
winning edge.
Smiling at his own cleverness, Lucky pulled out his penlight and closed the
door behind him. The light's thin beam was barely bright enough to guide him
into the main room. Taking care not to bump into anything, Lucky cautiously
swept the light back and forth as he walked across the bar's dance floor.
Hearing a clatter that was far too loud in the darkness, Lucky froze in his
tracks. He pulled out his gun and followed the penlight's beam with it as he crept
toward where the noise came from. Playing an old Sinatra song, a softly lit
jukebox sat in the far corner. He seriously doubted that the thing had started on its
own. Suddenly stabbing out of nowhere a narrow beam of light struck a slowly
rotating mirrored ball hanging over the dance floor. The air around Lucky became
filled with dozens of dizzily dancing stars.
"C'mon, no more funny stuff," Lucky demanded as he crouched in the
center of the room. Alarm bells ringing 'trap' were echoing through his brain.
"Come on out where I can see you."
Lucky's finger tightened on the trigger. There was a slight scrape and a
piece of the darkness moved.
"Put the gun away, Duncan," a low deep voice commanded.
"Like Hell!" Lucky roared, "Not until I can see you."
"Drop it!" the voice demanded harshly.
Lucky threw the penlight with a curse in the voice's direction. Briefly
seeing the dim outline of a man as the light swung in the air, Lucky squeezed off
several shots.
A sharp pain in his arm made Lucky drop his gun, not so much because it
hurt but because he was surprised. There imbedded in his arm was a slender green
winged dart. Angrily snatching the dart out of his arm, Lucky dove for the gun on
the floor. A black shoe spun the gun out of his reach just as his fingers were
reaching for it. Lucky looked up to see black eyes glinting malevolently behind a
black plastic mask. He gathered his feet under himself and charged at a slight man
in a black chauffeur's uniform.
The small man neatly sidestepped his charge and sent him back to the floor
with a chop to the neck. Lucky shook his head, but the room still spun around
him. The spinning stars didn't help either. He scooted on his haunches across the
floor, knowing full well he was completely out of his depth. His hand struck a
chair leg. Grinning wolfishly he grabbed the chair and launched himself with a
roar at the chauffeur. No way was he going down without a fight.
The chauffeur leaped into the air, high kicking the chair out of Lucky's
hands. Another kick as he landed lightly back on the ground sent Lucky flying in
the opposite direction. Lucky shakily pushed himself back to his feet as he
watched the man come toward him, another one of those darts twirling in his
gloved hand. Lucky kept on backing up as the small man advanced on him until
his back was pressed up against the wall. He groped in his pocket for anything that
might protect him, only to find his lucky charm. Hopelessly he palmed it in his
hand for all the good it would do him.
He raised his hands into the air. "What do you want from me?" he begged.
"Shit!" he screamed, closing his eyes as the small man's hands moved in a blur,
sending the dart vibrating into the wall next to his ear, leaving a small scratch on
his earlobe. The lucky charm fell from his hand and rolled out of sight.
"There is nothing to be afraid of, my friend," the low deep voice said
soothingly. "All I want from you is a little information."
Lucky opened his eyes to see before him a tall man dressed in a dark green
topcoat, wearing a mask similar to his tormentor's except green in color and with a
green hornet on its brow. He swallowed past a hard lump in his throat. This time
his gambling had gotten him in too deep. The man before him was the Green
Hornet and in his hand was Lucky's four leaf clover.
"Tell me what I want to know and I will allow you to live," the Green
Hornet said. "For now," he added harshly.
"Anything, man."
"What is Wrightman doing here?"
"He'll kill me if I tell you."
"You don't think I'll kill you if you don't?" the Green Hornet gritted as his
man took a step closer to the unlucky gambler.
"Okay, okay, I'll tell you," Lucky said in a rush. "He's after some guy."
"What guy?" the Green Hornet demanded impatiently.
"An accountant. The guy that was keeping Wrightman's records."
"What's the accountant's name?"
"Brown. Joe Brown."
"Why is he after this Joe Brown?"
"Wrightman was running a gambling racket for the mob. He had to keep a
record of what he was making so they could figure out their cut. Problem was he
was keeping two sets of books. One was kept by a guy hired by the mob, the other,
the real ones were done by this Brown guy. He left town a few weeks ago and it
wasn't until recently that Wrightman found out that Brown had the books with
him," the gambler explained.
"So if the cops find the books, Wrightman could be put away for a long
time," the Green Hornet supplied.
"If he's lucky, yeah. But it ain't the cops he's worried about. It's the mob. If
they find out he was keeping two sets of books and double-crossing them, they'll
have him killed. And it won't be an easy way of dying, I'll tell you that."
Pale green eyes glittered behind the Green Hornet's mask. "I want you to
take a message to Wrightman."
"Look Hornet, if he finds out I've been talking . . . "
The Green Hornet grabbed the lapels of Lucky's jacket, pressing his face
close to the gambler's, "You listen to me, Duncan. You will do what I tell you if
you want to be able to see the sun rise tomorrow," he threatened. "You will take
this message to Wrightman. Tell him I don't like outsiders coming into my city. If
he wants to conduct business in my city, he has to talk to me first. But I'll let him
slide this time, in fact, I'll make a deal with him. For a sum I will deliver both
Brown and his precious books to him. I don't care what he does with them, as long
as he doesn't do it in my city."
"How much do you want?"
"That's between Wrightman and me. You just deliver the message," the
Green Hornet answered sharply.
"Okay, okay, whatever you say, man."
The Green Hornet nodded slightly. The chauffeur moved closer to the
gambler, a contemptuous smile playing on his lips. Lucky's eyes darted fearfully
from one man to the other, finding no mercy in either. He tried to press himself
further into the dark paneling of the wall. Then the chauffeur's gloved hand darted
out and tapped him on the shoulder. It was too much for the gambler's shattered
nerves. He sank bonelessly to the floor in a dead faint.
Kato knelt down and checked for a pulse. "I think I scared him," he said
with a wry grin.
"I think so too," the Green Hornet agreed with a ghost of a smile as he
tossed the four leaf clover on the ground next to the unconscious man.
Rising to his feet, Kato asked, "Do you think this Joe Brown they're after is
the guy Miss Case is going out with?"
The Green Hornet shook his head. "I have no idea. We'll have to check him
out to find out for sure."
"Are you going to tell her about this?"
"Not on your life. At least not yet. I'm not about to mention this to her until
I get some facts. Otherwise, she'll never believe me."
