Chapter Two
One Spring Night
I
Spring is a time of reawakening. A time when the world renews itself in an explosion of color. Irises, daffodils and tulips were making their appearances all over the city. Wherever there was a bit of dirt from large city parks to tiny plots about which traffic surged or from hanging planters in front of busy stores, flowers greeted the coming of milder weather. The air was still bracingly cool but everyone was shedding their heavy winter clothes in celebration of the breaking of winter's hold.
Everyone but Anthony Hakenkrueze. He did not revel in the coming of spring. All it meant to him was valuable time wasted. Time wasted while he waited for the stump of his arm to heal. Time wasted while a replacement was made and fitted. Time wasted while he trained to use the mechanical thing that was attached to his left elbow. Time wasted he could have spent hunting down the Green Hornet and killing him.
Not all of the time had been wasted of course. Hakenkrueze had made it a point to spend every hour studying the Green Hornet. Every piece of information, no matter how trivial or unimportant was brought to him. Surprisingly there was very little to go on. Much of the material was a repetitious rewriting of the same basic information. Even the police files on the masked criminal were shockingly lacking. It was as if someone had combed through all the files on the Green Hornet and had made sure that anything even remotely important was erased from existence.
He had been successful in one thing. He had learned enough to know that the Green Hornet's main prey were not innocent citizens but criminals. As long as a gang kept its activities quiet and posed no threat to the Hornet's hold on the city, he would leave them alone. Once it started making noises about taking over the city or killing members of the general populace; the Hornet took steps to destroy it. Instead of resorting to violence, even though with his weapons the Hornet was very well capable of doing so, he would trick and lead on the gang's leaders until they landed themselves in the hands of the police.
Knowing this, Hakenkrueze had courted various underworld leaders through what was left of his Aryan Pride and Purity Neo-Nazi connections during the time of his convalescence. The promise of high-tech guns had lured out several promising prospects. He had pitted a few against each other to see who would be stupid enough for him to manipulate and yet smart enough to obey him.
Now his plan was bearing fruit. One of the old school gang leaders had successfully wiped out one of the upstart black gang leaders, making the city's underworld boil over in a battle for control. Just the very thing that would catch the Green Hornet's notice.
A meeting had been arranged between some of the old guard and the new minority gangs to hammer out a peaceful settlement. It was supposed to be secret, but Hakenkrueze had made sure that word of the meeting was spread throughout the city's network of stool pigeons and tipsters. Especially those the Green Hornet was known to favor.
The meeting was set up to happen in one of the warehouses near the city docks. It was a rabbit warren of busy warehouses and abandoned buildings intermixed with flop houses and shooting galleries, the ideal place for the cream and dregs of gangland society to meet.
Hakenkrueze had secreted several of his remaining men close to the meeting area. Their orders were to wait until the Green Hornet had arrived and had gone into the warehouse where the meeting was going to happen. It was critical that the Hornet be separated from his car. He had seen enough of the car's firepower to know that it would be impossible to take the Hornet alive if he stayed with the car. His men had some bazookas and armor-piercing loads that could easily take care of the car, but those also kill the Green Hornet and his man. Hakenkrueze didn't want that. He wanted the Hornet alive, alive to know how it feels to have an arm ripped off by a speeding train as had his own.
High up on his rooftop perch Hakenkrueze heard the rumble of several motorcycles. The first gang was arriving. They favored big, noisy motorcycles and fancied themselves as some kind of rogue knighthood. Calling themselves the Knights of the Steel Hog, their clothes were junkyard copies of mediaeval armor. Amateurs, Hakenkrueze muttered under his breath.
The next hour saw other gangs arrive. Some were as bizarre as the Knights, arriving in leaping and bouncing low riders that thumped with heavy bass speakers. Others acted as respectably as heads of state choosing to arrive in long, black limousines with a minimum of fuss or noise.
The sun had fully set and the meeting in the warehouse was well underway with all of the participants gathered. Hakenkrueze was starting to get worried when the Black Beauty finally made its appearance. With a silenced engine and odd green-glowing headlights it was a black wraith that maneuvered easily into position near the motorcycles, turning around to make sure of a quick get away.
Two men left the car. One was dressed in a dark green overcoat and snap brim hat. The other in a black chauffeur's uniform. A glimpse of masks seen through his binoculars confirmed that the men were indeed the Green Hornet and his man, Kato. Hakenkrueze whispered instructions over the radio. They were to wait until the Hornet and his man were well away from the car before making their move. He repeated his orders that only the chauffeur was to be taken out. The Green Hornet was not to be touched. The Green Hornet was his.
Suddenly the air erupted in gunfire.
"No, no. Not yet, God damn it!" Hakenkrueze shouted into his radio. "Who the Hell fired?"
The glimmer of tarnished metal from a doorway caught Hakenkrueze's eye. The Knights had decided on their own takeover. They were firing indiscriminately, charging for the warehouse, intending to take whoever was in the building.
Where's the Hornet? Hakenkrueze pulled his rifle to his shoulder. I can't let the Hornet escape. Have to get him now. Sighting through his scope for the masked man, he spotted him crouching near a car. The cross hairs centered on the Green Hornet's head. At the last moment the man moved. The bullet caught only the hat, sending it flying into the air. The masked man quickly ducked but not before Hakenkrueze caught the pale gleam of blonde hair, not the silver- grey he expected.
Hakenkrueze cursed and prepared to take another shot as soon as he had a clear sight of the masked man. Police sirens screamed their approach. Hakenkrueze cursed again. Somebody must have tipped off the police. It was getting too hot. Hakenkrueze ordered his men to pull back. He would have to make other plans.
Even Hakenkrueze cringed when from his high perch he heard the Green Hornet's big car roll over several of the motorcycles as it escaped. The masked man was not going to make any friends in that group tonight. The sirens were getting louder. As he wrapped up his gear, Hakenkrueze puzzled over what he had seen. It could have been a trick of the light, but he had the feeling that the man he fired on was not the Green Hornet he knew.
II
Jacques La Blanc cooly surveyed the large ballroom over a tall flute of champagne. The city's wealthiest and most prominent citizens had paid 200 hundred dollars a plate for a culinary fantasy designed by Chef Sant Michelle, the current darling of the gourmet set. Of course it was all in the name of some worthy cause, but at the moment Jacques couldn't remember whether it was for the homeless or for abused women or for something else that was as worthy. It was all the same to him, an opportunity to mix with the glitteri, for them to become used to his presence, like zebras becoming used to a lion's presence. They were even strolling among the buffet tables like grazing animals, tasting here and there, settling at a table to dine on what they had gathered or circulating between the tables chatting and gossiping with one another while musicians played classical music from a low dais.
One of the zebras was not about to become used to his presence. Jacques smiled to himself. Britt Reid could hardly be called prey. Despite his silver hair and the slender black cane in his hand, the man was anything but weak. Reid was tall, broad shouldered and despite a slight limp, moved like a tiger on the prowl. Like Jacques, he moved through the crowd, his wife at his side, participating, but never quite fully a part of it. He knew Reid was very well aware of his presence and was watching him as he was watching Reid. Of course, Reid might consider he had good reason to watch Jacques carefully since it was his daughter that he was escorting to the event.
"You look so serious, Jacques," Danielle Reid said with a laugh as she dipped a strawberry into her glass of champagne. She was radiant in a scarlet form-hugging gown and matching silk wrap. A bouquet of red beaded roses was woven through her dark hair. "You would think I had dragged you here instead of the other way around."
"Forgive me, mon petit, I did not mean to look so serious," he answered in a light French lilt, "How could I ever be serious when I am in the bright sunshine of your beauty?"
Danielle shook her head, the lights of a chandelier overhead sparking copper highlights in hair that was so dark as to be almost black. "Has Daddy been giving you the evil eye again?"
"Of course, as a father should, Dani. He is a wise man to be so watchful of his daughter, especially one as beautiful as you."
She smiled at his remark, for though Jacques might act the classic French roué she was as safe with him as she was with her own brother, John. In fact the Frenchman with his pale aqua-grey eyes and nearly black hair looked more like her brother than her blonde, grey-eyed twin. Unfortunately, he also treated her more like a younger sister than a potential lover.
Jacques spotted the night's host, Julius Archer, enter the room with a voluptuous redhead on his arm. While the tall, stoop-shouldered billionaire was dressed in a conservative tuxedo and tails, the red head was nearly spilling out of the empire waisted gown of emerald chiffon. A heavy necklace of emeralds and diamonds poured into her décolletage
"Tell me, Dani, mon cher, what do you think of that woman? I believe I heard her name is Shannon De la Culebra?" he asked.
"That's her all right. I can't stand her. I can't believe her lawyers got her off clean."
"Why is that?" Jacques asked, knowing full well why.
"Because she is a horrid fake. She acts all so sweet and innocent, but she's anything but. You heard about that business about her late husband, the senator Marcus de la Culebra, being involved with some kind of drugs and guns scheme? Well, he attacked my parents at our own home and wound up murdering her brother in our den. If her husband and brother were dirty, so is she. That woman is no innocent."
"If she is so evil, how does she manage to stay free?"
Danielle snorted her disgust. "She knows a lot of people. I think she's got something on practically everybody in politics and probably has slept with most of them too."
"Do you think she has something on our esteemed host?"
"I wouldn't doubt it. Not like I like him either."
"Why? He seems to be a decent man. After all he is throwing this affair for charity."
"He wants the Sentinel."
Jacques nodded his understanding. "Oui, I see. Then your family being here . . . ?"
"Well, you invited me . . . "
"And your parents, especially your father, decided to come to keep an eye on us."
"That's about right. Why did you invite me?"
"Because I enjoy your company, of course."
"Is that all? Nothing else?" Danielle asked. "I always have the feeling that we can never be more than friends. Why is that? Okay, there's more than five years between us," she admitted, "but I wouldn't think the difference in ages would bother you."
Jacques tried to shrug off Danielle's concern. "I assure you, sweet Dani, the problem is entirely mine. I have the highest regard for you. My reluctance is merely because I fear hurting you," he explained as he followed her out of the ballroom and onto the balcony.
"Britt Reid," Julius Archer said, greeting the publisher, "And Mrs. Reid," he continued, acknowledging Casey's presence, "I hope you are enjoying yourselves."
Casey smiled politely. "Yes, we are. I've always wanted to try Chef Sant Michelle's food before, but I've never had the courage. I never imagined that so many things could be turned into something edible."
"Yes," Britt agreed. "I've heard of things like those candied violets and rose petals, but some of those meats, well," he said with a wry grimace, "I used to give those parts to my dog after I had butchered a deer I had shot. Even then there were parts he wouldn't touch. Now, I'm surprised to find them here served on bone china and drizzled with chocolate."
Archer laughed, "I agree with you. To tell you the truth, I wouldn't touch some of that stuff with a ten-foot pole. Of course there are always the thrill seekers who'll try anything."
Britt and Casey nodded their agreement.
"Oh, by the way, have you both met Shannon?" Archer asked, remembering his duties as host.
"Yes," Britt said cooly. "We've met before at some of the fund-raisers her husband the late Senator de la Culebra used to throw," he explained. "I'm sorry about your loss Mrs. de la Culebra, especially under such unfortunate circumstances."
Shannon smiled, her eyes traveling up and down Britt. He was much older than her, but it was obvious she found him attractive. She moved closer to him, forcing him to take a step back.
"I appreciate your understanding," Shannon simpered. "There are so few people who understand what I went through. I'm sure you understand, Mrs. Reid, may I call you Lenore? I'm sure you understand how hard it is when a wife finds out that her husband is not the man she thought she married. I really should have paid more attention to what Marcus was doing, but of course as his wife, I thought it was not my place to pry too closely into his affairs. After all, if I could not trust my own husband, who could I trust?
"I never imagined his political ambition would actually lead to breaking the law. I would surely have tried to do something if I had but known. But even if I had, what can a wife do? We wives often have so little influence over our husbands," she sighed, taking on the air of suffering martyrdom.
Casey moved subtly between Shannon and Britt, forcing Shannon to step back or risk getting her sandaled feet stepped on. "I guess I'm very lucky. Britt and I have always worked closely together, especially when it comes to the Daily Sentinel. There are no secrets between us," she said proudly.
Archer touched Shannon's elbow to remind her who her escort was and to draw her back to his side. "I'm glad to hear that you two work so closely together. It's always great when a husband and wife work as a team instead of the wife seeing the business as a competitor for his attention."
"I learned a long time ago that I had to share Britt with the Sentinel," Casey explained, "You might say that we've set up a satisfactory menage a trois between myself, Britt and the paper."
"A newspaper makes a poor bed-mate," Britt said, wrapping his arm around Casey's slender waist. She relaxed against him, fitting into his arm perfectly. "No matter how important, or profitable, a business is, it's just a business. If you have no one to come home to, what's the point?"
"So Britt," Archer said, "Have you discussed with Mrs. Reid my proposal to buy the Sentinel? I can see you two love each other a great deal. Wouldn't it be good to have more time to spend together? After all, a newspaper is a very demanding business. I hate to say this, but you're not a young man. Wouldn't you rather spend whatever's left of your life enjoying your wife and family instead of spending every day in the office?" he asked.
"We have talked about your offer, Julius. The answer's still no," Britt said politely.
"But surely it's a drain on your assets. The Sentinel's barely profitable. Surely there's some other, more profitable, way to invest your money. The sum I've offered is far more than what the physical plant is worth." Archer held up his hand before Britt could reply. "But what I'm buying is the Sentinel's reputation. That's something no amount of money can create. Don't you think it's time to reap the benefits of a lifetime of hard work and have the time and money to do what you actually want to do?"
"I'm already doing what I want to do," Britt said. "I can't imagine what I'd do with my time if I didn't have the paper to go to in the morning."
"Well, perhaps you could stay on as managing editor, or something. I'd certainly be happy to have you stay on. In fact, I think your knowledge and experience would be an invaluable asset. I'm sure I could arrange for a more than adequate compensation for your time."
"You mean be an employee at my own newspaper?" Britt asked. "I don't think so. I prefer to be my own boss and run my paper the way I decide is best. I'm too old to learn how to take orders." He squeezed Casey's waist. "Casey's the only one I take orders from. I prefer to keep it that way," he said trying to keep things light even though he could see the billionaire wanted the Sentinel so bad he could taste it. "Besides," he continued, "I'm planning to give the Sentinel to my children. When I'm ready to retire, they'll be there to take it over. The Sentinel's one of the few papers today that are family run. I plan to keep it that way. I'm sorry, Archer, but the answer is, and always will be, no."
"But Britt . . . " Archer started.
"No," Britt said firmly.
Archer opened his mouth to protest, but quickly shut it, realizing that there was no way he could make Britt Reid to change his mind.
"Ah, Mr. Archer, just the man I was looking for," the police commissioner interrupted, breaking the stand off between the two men, "Your people have been pressing me for some information about what we've turned up after that break-in at your place a few days ago. I've been meaning to talk to you about what we've come up with so far."
"What do you have you so far?" Britt asked.
The police commissioner hesitated for a moment. In his eagerness to get in the billionaire's good graces he had momentarily forgotten that Britt was the publisher of the Daily Sentinel.
"Please go ahead, Commissioner," Archer said expansively, "I'm sure Mr. Reid will respect your wishes if you want this information to be off the record."
Britt smiled. "Of course if you want to discuss this privately . . . "
"No, no, that'll be all right," the commissioner said quickly. Britt was a powerful man he did not want to offend. "There's nothing confidential and we'll be releasing the information to the public soon anyway."
"So what have your people discovered so far?" Archer asked.
The commissioner sighed and shrugged. "Unfortunately, not much. Our biggest lead were the toy airplanes. We were hoping that somebody might remember the purchase of so many planes. Problem was our perp. already had that figured out. It looks like the planes were bought from stores all over the city; probably one or two at a time and over a long period of time. There's no way we'll be able to i.d. the person who bought them unless we already had him in a line up."
"Do you have any idea what he was after?" Britt asked.
"None," the commissioner replied. "Mr. Archer, are you sure nothing was missing?"
"Nothing," Archer answered. "The more I think about it, the more I feel that the break-in was politically motivated. Maybe something to do with our defense projects or even, who knows, maybe somebody didn't approve of the games we put out. Who knows? There's a lot of nut cases out there. I can tell you one thing though, I don't scare easily if that was the reason for the invasion of my home. All it's done is make me angry." Archer scowled, shaking his head. "It's too bad the police didn't find anything on the intruder."
"Well, I promise you that we will do everything in our power to catch the culprit, or culprits."
One of Archer's men came up the commissioner and whispered into his ear. "Gentlemen, and Ladies," the commissioner said excitedly, "A call has just come with some very interesting news. It appears that there's been a major gun battle between some of the city's biggest gangs."
"That is interesting," Britt said, "Do you have any details yet?"
"Not much yet, except for the fact that the Green Hornet was seen leaving the scene. One of our units tried to chase him down, but as usual his car totally outclassed them."
"If you excuse me, Mr. Archer, Mrs. de la Culebra, Commissioner, it sounds like I better contact the Sentinel for a follow up on this," Britt replied, the muscle of his jaw tightening in anger. "Casey," he said, addressing his wife as he took her elbow, "Let's find Danielle and La Blanc and tell them we're leaving."
Danielle stopped beneath an electric heater that also doubled as a light. Now that the sun had set, it had gotten very chilly. Gazing up at the cloudy night sky, she pulled the silk wrap closer over her shoulders. "Could your reluctance have something to do with Interpol?" she asked Jacques.
"Interpol? Where did you ever get that idea?"
"Dad's been looking into your background . . . "
"And he told you about my being involved with Interpol?"
"No. I saw the papers he had gotten from them. What's going on?"
"What did the papers say?"
"Not much, but the inspector did tell my father that you were not to be trusted. Why did he say that?"
Jacques shrugged lightly, "You might say I have a hobby that sometimes causes problems with the police."
Danielle studied Jacques closely for a few moments thinking about her father's "hobby". The one that involved running around in the middle of the night in a big black car. "What exactly is your hobby?"
Jacques was thoughtful for a few minutes. "Have you ever wondered about people like Monsieur Archer? The man can have any thing he wants. No matter the cost, it can be his, but what about those things that cannot be had for any price? How does a man like him got about getting them?"
"You mean things like love and happiness?"
"Non. Perhaps those things are without price, but to people like Monsieur Archer, they can get what looks like love and happiness with their money. Non. There are things, things that are considered the wealth of humanity, things that are so rare that they belong to the people, not to a single individual. For instance, great works of art, rare artifacts, things that you see in the world's museums. These things people like Monsieur Archer cannot buy no matter how much they offer. The answer they receive, of course, is no. Would you take no, mon petit Dani, if you were Monsieur Archer?"
"He doesn't want to take no about the Daily Sentinel." Danielle said with a slight shudder. "So what do you do about people like Mr. Archer?"
"I find things. Things that have disappeared, and I return them."
"And this involves Interpol, how?"
"I did not always return things," Jacques said fingering the sapphire pendent that graced her slender throat.
Danielle turned away from Jacques in confusion. Again there was that disturbing balancing act between right and wrong that she had seen her father practice. She spotted her parents coming toward them. Her mother, Casey, seemed worried and her father barely was keeping his temper under control. Did they think Jacques and I are doing something wrong? she wondered.
"Dani," Britt said when they reached the young couple, "Your mother and I are leaving now. I just got word that the Green Hornet was involved in some kind of gangland shootout. I want to talk to the City Room to make sure that someone's covering it already."
"The Green Hornet . . . " Dani echoed. How can that be? she thought in confusion. Britt Reid didn't need to send reporters to the scene. He had people who could do that. Then she realized that it was merely his excuse for leaving the party. Since he was the Green Hornet, her father had to find out whether or not the Green Hornet had actually been seen, and if he had, find out who was masquerading as the Hornet. Unfortunately she had a very good idea who that person might be.
Britt rocked on his heels in barely restrained impatience. "The party's just about breaking up anyway. I expect Jacques will be taking you home soon."
"Of course, Monsieur Reid," Jacques answered, "I will see Dani home safely."
"Good, do that." Britt said with a curt nod before turning away.
III
"Perhaps, mon petit, your father is right," Jacques said to Danielle was she watched her father's retreating back, "The party is breaking up. Shall I take you home now?" He asked, breaking into her thoughts.
Danielle swirled the contents of the champagne glass, watching the sparkling bubbles dance crazily as they slid along the side of the glass. A deliciously wicked idea had occurred to her.
"Jacques, are you here to 'recover' something from Mr. Archer?" she asked.
Jacques eyebrows rose in surprise. "Why do you ask?"
"Well, let's see. There's those papers from Interpol, and you just admitted that you 'find' things for them. And you have been in town an awfully long time. A lot longer than you usually spend in one place, unless of course it's Paris. Now I can't imagine it's the weather. You've been here during a few blizzards, something I couldn't have imagined you doing, and while this is probably one of the best times of the year here, I can't see why you're here instead of Paris, where you usually prefer to be. So you must be here for some reason . . . "
"Why Danielle, beautiful Danielle," Jacques interrupted, trying to sound his most innocent, "I am here because I am enjoying your presence so much."
Yeah, right, she thought wryly. "Jacques, I don't think you're here because of me. I think you're here because Mr. Archer has something you need to 'recover'. A painting, maybe or some kind of exotic artifact."
Jacques hesitated, weighing his options.
"Jacques," Dani pressed, "Now tell me the truth and not any more of that French baloney you've been handing me."
Jacques sighed. The girl could be useful . . . "Okay, I am here to find something that is rumored to be in Monsieur Archer's possession."
"What?"
"A painting by El Greco. It was one of those moody things with Toledo in background, stormy skies overhead, typical El Greco, except this one has never been seen before. An old Toledo family had just discovered it in one of those dreary castle dungeons under a bunch of old rags. Being proper Spaniards, they sold it to The Prado in Madrid. Unfortunately it disappeared on its way to be cleaned and restored."
"So how does Mr. Archer come into this?"
"Monsieur Archer was in negotiations to buy the painting when the family decided to sell it to The Prado. I guess this was one of the few cases where national pride overcame greed. It is said that Monsieur Archer was livid when he found that the painting had been sold out from under him."
"So Mr. Archer might have arranged for the painting to disappear."
"Oui. Perhaps if he could not have it legally, he decided he would have it illegally."
"So you're here to get it back from him?" How wonderfully exciting, she thought, if John, Lee and Dad can get involved in something. Why can't I? Especially since involved something legal like recovering a great piece of art.
"Oui, but so far I have not found where he might have hid the painting. I have been watching Monsieur Archer very closely and so far, nothing. If you have a rare piece of art, something that no else has ever seen, would you not want to have it close to you? To savor it, to know that you have what no one else has? But, bah, this Archer, he does not do that. Every night I see him with that woman. You know what they do?" he said, opening his eyes wide in exaggerated surprise.
"No, what?" Danielle asked curiously.
"She spanks him."
"Spanks him?"
"Oui! He bends down and she spanks his bony derriere until it is red and blistering. Bah, is that the way it should be between a man and a woman? Non," he snorted.
Danielle didn't know what was funnier. The vision of the voluptuous Shannon de la Culebra spanking Archer's bony butt, or Jacques's outrage. Just as they were talking, she spotted Archer and Mrs. De la Culebra talking to the new Catholic Archbishop. She started giggling.
"What is so funny?" Jacques asked.
"I'm sorry, it's just a thought that came to me. But," she said, returning to Jacques' problem, "So you no idea where Mr. Archer might be hiding the painting?"
"Not a sou."
"Are you sure he has it? Maybe someone else has it instead."
"Non, impossible. I know Monsieur Archer has it, but where," he eloquently shrugged. "Who can say?"
Making her decision, Danielle set her empty champagne glass on a nearby table. She leaned toward Jacques and said with a twinkle of mischief in her green eyes, "Why don't I do some research about our Mr. Archer. Then when we get together we can go over things. Maybe together we can figure out where our esteemed Mr. Archer hid this painting." There's no way Dad could object, she thought, It can't possibly be dangerous.
IV
"Damn it, John, what the hell were you thinking?" Britt Reid demanded. Behind them the Black Beauty was rotating back into its underground berth.
John tried to think of a good answer as he removed the Green Hornet mask. Should've known that he'd hear about my outing as the Green Hornet almost as soon as it happened, he thought wryly.
"Look, Dad, I knew you wanted the Green Hornet to be at that meeting, but I didn't get a chance to tell you about it since you and mom were already at that charity ball. There was no way you could have left without it appearing odd."
"Odd?" Britt shot back abruptly, "Do you have any idea of how it would've looked for me to have been pulled away to be told that my son's had been killed while disguised as the Green Hornet?"
"That bullet was mile off. How'd you hear about that anyway?"
"Never mind how I heard about it," Britt angrily retorted. "I thought I had made it abundantly clear that I didn't want you going out as the Green Hornet."
"Yeah, you have. Just like you've made it more than abundantly clear that none of my ideas at the Sentinel are worth considering."
"Is that what this is really about? Just because I rejected a few of your ideas, you decide to try to get yourself killed?"
"No, that's not it at all. You have to change with the times, Dad. You have to grow the Sentinel's business. You have to expand things. I'm not a kid anymore. You have got to let me have more responsibilities at the paper."
"I'm perfectly willing to give you some responsibilities at the paper, but you have got to remember to be fiscally careful. We don't have financial backers that we can go running to every time we need some more money."
"Maybe it's time we should think about getting some financial backing. We could go public . . . "
"No way. I'm not going to have a bunch of accountants tell me how to run my newspaper."
"You're doing it already."
"John . . . "
"Okay. I realize some of my ideas are too expensive, but couldn't you at least include me in some of the decision making at the paper? How do you ever expect me to learn anything if I don't take part in things?"
Britt sighed, looking at his son who was still clad in the Green Hornet costume and at Lee who was still wearing his black mask. Maybe involving John in the paper would get his mind off the Green Hornet, he thought. It might also keep him home instead of resorting to leaving the country again to make himself a name, just like I did when I was his age. He shuddered inwardly. It was while he was away in Europe that his own father had been framed and imprisoned for a murder he had not committed. That had led to Britt running the Sentinel with no experience at all and to the Green Hornet. The last thing he wanted to do was repeat history.
"Okay, you're right. I've been leaving you out of the loop too much. Starting tomorrow, early, I'll expect in my office. You'll start working with me learning the ropes."
John looked relieved, as did Lee who had been careful to stay out of the fight between father and son.
"But John, and you, Lee, shelve the Green Hornet. It's inevitable for you to inherit the Sentinel, but not the Green Hornet. There's no reason for you to take over the role after I retire."
"Yes, there is," John retorted.
"John . . . "
"Dad, there will always be a need for the Green Hornet. Even though you created him to avenge your father's death, this city needs a man like the Green Hornet."
"Why's that?"
"You've seen it yourself how a corrupt city government can destroy innocent people's lives. You've seen that when corrupt people run everything from the cops to the courts to city hall itself, there is no recourse. Somebody has to have the courage to stand against that, somebody who can strip those people of their masks to show to the public their true face, so that there can be true justice.
"You know as well as I, we can only go so far with the Sentinel. I've seen it in other countries where those newspapers that fail to toe the party line, those who dare to reveal the truth, are destroyed by people who don't want the truth to be told.
"Hell, we're coming close to that ourselves. Newspapers are being bought off one by one by huge corporations or being forced into bankruptcy. Soon, all sources of information; radio, television, newspapers, the Internet will be owned a very select, very powerful few. They will be the one's who will be controlling what we hear and what we know. The Sentinel is one of those few remaining media outlets that are truly independent. People in this city rely on us to tell them the unvarnished truth when no one else has the nerve to do it."
"You're not telling me anything new, so why the Green Hornet?"
"To protect the Sentinel. The Green Hornet is untouchable. He can find out the truth. He can expose the corruption without endangering anyone but himself. He's faceless, nameless. Nobody knows who he is, so nobody can threaten those who are close to him."
Britt sighed, crossing his arms across the chest. John was right, but . . . He looked at Casey who was watching from the doorway into the garage. "I'm sorry, John, what I said stands. I forbid you to go out as the Green Hornet."
"You forbid me? Why?"
"I'm not going to be the one who buries you," Britt replied harshly, "That's why."