The Prodigal Son

by pat weakley

Book Three- Britt Reid finds himself accused of murder. There is no body, only blood-stained sheets. John, Britt and Casey's son, heads out as the Green Hornet to solve the mystery against Britt's wishes. Old enemies, and new further complicate matters.

4. chapter four

Chapter Four

Action

I

Britt felt unusually uneasy as he watched the Black Beauty come up from its underground berth. He usually enjoyed watching as part of the townhouse's garage's floor rotated up and over to reveal the big car. The sight of the dim green light overhead playing on the car's big grill as it appeared out of the darkness usually sent a thrill of excitement through him. A massive car with a long hood and long trunk, the Black Beauty had served him well since he started being the Green Hornet in the late 60's. Although it had a curb weight of over 5 tons, the Black Beauty was fast and could move as nimbly as a sports car. Unlike a sports car it was sheathed in a light weight armor that made it virtually bullet proof. The car was also fully loaded with a wide array of weapons that had given it the well-earned nickname of "The Rolling Arsenal". For some reason he could not figure out, he felt as if this would be the last time he rode out in the Black Beauty as the Green Hornet. It felt like something was passing through his hands that he could never get back again.

Behind him, still holding his black mask in his hand, stood Lee dressed in the black chauffeur's uniform. Lee, like always, looked ready and eager to get going. Next to him stood John who was looking wistfully at the car. Britt knew that his son was wishing that he was wearing the green overcoat and mask instead of him. If Britt had his way, he never would.

After putting on his green mask, the mask of the Green Hornet, Britt slid into the backseat of the Black Beauty. Lee, also masked, slid behind the steering wheel. John stepped up as the rear door. "Dad, be careful," he said.

"I always am," the Green Hornet answered.

"I know, but it's just that . . . " John hesitated. Did he too feel uneasy? Britt wondered. John seemed to shrug it off with a low chuckle, trying to make light of things. "You know how Mom worries."

"I know," the Green Hornet said, "Tell her I'll be careful."

John pressed the heavy door closed.

The Green Hornet took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. Being careful was fine, but he couldn't afford to lose the edge. That could be fatal. He removed the Hornet Sting from the weapons locker, flipped the butt of the slender black rod open. A loud buzzing filled the air. "Hornet Sting, check," he said.

Next he pulled out the Hornet gas gun, opened the gun's butt, pulled out the gas cartridge and checked the fluid level in the cartridge. He snapped the butt closed, checked the gas pressure and said, "Hornet gas gun, check."

"Kato, check the Hornet Scanner."

Kato flipped up the top of the armrest to his right to reveal a control panel of switches, buttons and indicator lights. He flipped a switch and from the center of the Black Beauty's long rear deck rose a small satellite. A light set on top of the Scanner flashed its readiness. "Hornet Scanner, check," he said.

The Green Hornet could feel the old excitement come back. Good. "Let's roll, Kato."

The back wall of the garage including an ivy espalier rose up. The Black Beauty moved silently out. It moved through a series of interconnected alleyways away from the townhouse until it reached a brick wall. The brick wall separated. The Black Beauty passed through and behind it the man and woman in a tattered billboard were reunited in a minty kiss.

The Black Beauty was headed for Hog Heaven. Run by the Knights of the Iron Hog, Hog Heaven was one of the many bars and road-houses that sat along the interstate or along the narrow two lane highways that ran from the northern lumber country to the urban south. Long haul truckers, lumbermen and rootless men on four wheels or two made for a rough clientele. It didn't matter to the owners of these tough places how many times windows and doors were broken in fights. As long as their overpriced liquor and women were paid for, they didn't care.

The Green Hornet had intended to investigate this network of bars and road-houses for some time. There were rumors that the legally taxed liquor bottles were freely mixed in with bootleg liquor and that which had been shipped out of Canada down the back roads or boated in from international waters under the cover of darkness.

It was more a job for the Feds to handle, but the Green Hornet had decided that it was taking too long for the bureaucratic wheels of law enforcement to turn even after the Daily Sentinel had run a series of exposes on the problem. It was time for the Green Hornet to step in. Especially since the word around town was that the leader of the Knights was an ambitious man and was looking to expand his business into the rougher parts of the city. It was also said that this was what had led to the attack on the inter-gang meeting.

There weren't many of the Knights left, but tonight the Green Hornet would make sure he got the answers he needed or there would be even fewer of them left.

The Black Beauty ground to a halt in the shadows of a large tractor rig at the outer edges of the large graveled parking lot surrounding the road-house. At this late hour, the road-house was just starting to get busy. There were several other tractor rigs in the parking lot, while closer in to the brightly lit building, in the place of honor, were several gleaming low-rider motorcycles. As the Green Hornet and Kato watched three men exploded from the front door.

"I toldja, you were gonna be freakin' sorry if you didn't stop asking questions!" a big bear of a man screamed at the thin blonde man he had thrown out of the front door.

His partner, another bearded man-mountain kicked the helpless man. "Yeah, we don't like no nosy people hangin' around here," he said, sending another kick in the blonde man's side.

Trying to protect his head from the men's hobnailed boots, the blonde man had curled up into a fetal ball. He chanced raising his head. A smile cracked his bruised face, "I can hear just fine. Kicking isn't going to make me hear you any better," he commented wryly.

The first of the big men lifted his leg to kick the blonde man. He felt the cold metal of a gun barrel pressed against his neck. He very slowly brought his leg back down to the ground.

"I'd like you to meet some friends of mine," the blonde man said, painfully dragging himself to his knees, "They like to ask questions too, but they don't take 'no comment' as well as I do."

With a horrendous growl the second big man charged at the man holding the gun on his partner. A quick side chop from a slight man dressed in a black chauffeur's uniform dropped him instantly to the ground beside the blonde man.

The first man's eyes slid fearfully to the man holding the gun. He had instantly recognized the chauffeur, but seeing the cold green eyes in the green mask with the green hornet on its brow, he wished he was wrong.

"Hey, Hornet," he stuttered, "We was just havin' some fun."

"Would you like my man to have some fun with you?" the Green Hornet asked.

"No way, hey, if we knew he was yer friend, we wouldn't have touched him none," the man stuttered as the chauffeur, flexing his hands eagerly, strolled carelessly toward him.

"Where's Buske?" the green masked man demanded.

"I dunno."

"Try again," the Green Hornet growled.

Smiling coldly while he causally hit his open palm with his fist, Kato approached the man.

"He's inside," the man stammered.

"Very good, my friend," the Green Hornet said smoothly.

A green mist whispered out the gun enveloping the man. He gasped, then fell to the ground like a lightning struck oak.

"You know you could've asked me," the Lowery said as Kato helped him to his feet.

"Yes, I could've," the Green Hornet agreed, stepping over the bodies on the ground, "But that wouldn't have made much of an impact on these lunkheads, would it?"

"So Lowrey, what are you doing here?" the Green Hornet asked.

"I was just looking into the attack a few days ago. You know, the one you two were at," the reporter answered as he tried to finger comb straw-colored hair away from his eyes.

"What did you find out?" the Green Hornet asked.

"Nothing, they sniffed out that I was a reporter right off the bat."

"Was that before or after you opened your mouth," Kato asked wryly, noting that the reporter although casually dressed in jeans and a heavy weight fleeced jean jacket, looked nothing like Hog Heaven's rough-edged patrons.

"After. I tried to act like I was from the city looking for a little action.

But when I started to ask a few questions, well . . . "

Shaking his head, the Green Hornet said, "Kato, will you take Lowrey to his car, please?"

"Uh, he can't do that," Lowrey said.

"Why?"

From behind the building they could hear the echo of something heavy hitting metal. "That's my car. They said they were going to make sure I had to walk home." A grimace appeared on his long face, "On broken legs," he added.

Rolling his eyes to heaven, the Green Hornet sighed. "Take him to the Black Beauty then."

"Why don't I go in with you?" Lowrey suggested hopefully. "After all, it's a story," he added, knowing that the Green Hornet was also his boss, Britt Reid.

"No way. You do your reporting from the Black Beauty's back seat, and consider yourself lucky I don't send you walking back to the city." His eyes traveled meaningfully down the reporter's long thin legs, "Without broken legs."

After he had left the reporter in the Black Beauty with a stern warning not to touch anything, Kato returned to the Green Hornet's side at the back door to the road-house. The men who had attacked the reporter's car were lying unconscious on the ground near the masked man's feet.

"Didn't get to them in time, huh?" Kato asked, noticing that the reporter's car was severely dented and missing most of its windows and lights.

"'Fraid not," the Hornet replied, "That's another damn insurance claim I'm going to have to make good for Lowrey."

"Maybe he should get something more sturdy next time," Kato commented.

"Like what? A tank?"

Kato grinned in reply. "Together or separately?" he asked the older man as they entered the back door.

"Together," the Green Hornet answered. He noted with approval that Kato had returned from the Black Beauty with a set of nunchakus in his hands. "Don't be surprised if we have to fight as soon as we get in," he warned.

Kato nodded with a grim smile. There was nothing he liked more than a good fight.

They passed noiselessly through what passed for a kitchen, but neither man would have even considered stealing a bite from the noisome food that was laying in greasy globs on the filthy counters. A cook watched them warily as they passed, but made no move to stop them. He wasn't about to get involved in whatever business brought the Green Hornet and Kato to the road-house.

They passed out of the kitchen and into a narrow hallway that led past filthy bathrooms that had probably never been cleaned since Hog Heaven was built. The entire place smelled of stale beer, marijuana, vomit and a backed up sewer.

The main room of the roadhouse wasn't any better, except their ears as well as their noses were assaulted. Loudspeakers set in every corner of the room competed vainly in top volume against the racket of cursing, drunken laughter and the crashing of bottles against walls and people's heads. In one corner a game of pool was being played with the smashing of pool sticks over helmeted heads.

Reigning over this insane kingdom in a throne made up of twisted motorcycle carcasses and wearing a chromed crown inexplicably adorned with a Mercedes hood ornament, was 'Husky' Buske. Buske was a massive man whose face was nearly invisible under long matted black hair and a curling black beard that disappeared in a thatch of black chest hair. Huge hairy arms protruded from a greasy black leather vest as equally huge hands held the buttocks of the blonde woman writhing on his lap.

Bright white-blue eyes, which had given him his nickname of Husky, hungrily watched her swaying breasts as she slowly moved her hips. The only thing she wore was a light-blue denim vest. There was a look of serious concentration on her face as she swayed over his exposed hips. The long kinky curls of her over-bleached blonde hair hung like a horse's mane down her back. She could have been a very old sixteen or an exhausted sixty.

Despite the Green Hornet's expectations no one noticed his and Kato's entrance. No one except Buske. A wide grin showing unexpectedly small neat white teeth appeared from within the heavy beard as the two masked men cautiously made their way to his throne. The grin became even wider as a bottle soaring above the Green Hornet's head smashed into the wall behind him. Kato crouched, ready to take on the attacker, but the Green Hornet, his own cool green eyes on Buske's showed no reaction. No one followed up on the bottle. It seemed to be just a stray missile. One among many that routinely hit the walls or ceiling.

When the Green Hornet finally reached his throne Buske shoved the girl off his lap.

"What d'you want, Hornet?" Buske growled at the masked man.

"I have a few things I want to discuss with you," the Green Hornet replied.

"Like what?"

"Like the Inter-gang meeting you and your boys broke up a few nights ago."

"What about it? If you hadn't run over our bikes I wouldn't have lost so many men," Buske said angrily.

"Your bikes were in the way. We went over them. Just like you did at the Inter-gang meeting. If something, or somebody, is in the way, you go over it. Right?"

"I lost a lot of good men," Buske muttered.

"I wasn't the one who decided to attack the meeting. If you had asked me, I would've told you it was a stupid thing to do."

"Now look here. If you think you can waltz right in here and call me stupid . . . "

"Would you rather I call you stupid behind your back, like everyone else does?"

"Who?"

"Like I said, everyone. Especially the man who set up the meeting. It took him a lot of work to get every body together in one place and you had to ruin it all by trying to turn it into your own party."

"What's he sayin' about me?"

"That you're a fool. That you can't even run your own gang halfway decently out in the sticks like this, never mind trying to break into the big time in the city. You're nothing but small potatoes."

Buske lurched to his feet. The Green Hornet noticed for the first time that the gang leader's right leg was encased in a black painted cast. "Let me tell you something Hornet. I got plans. I'm gonna make all those big-city mother frs kiss my hairy ass by the time I get through with them. Especially that fool who thinks he's gonna have himself some pet gangs who'll run things for him. I ain't nobody's pet."

"Tell me about this man who making 'pets' of the city's gangs."

Suddenly Buske laughed. "You don't know shit. D'you, Hornet? You've been out of action so damn long, you ain't got no idea of what's going on in your own damn city."

"I might not have been 'in action', Buske, but I wasn't dead. I just had

other, more interesting, things to occupy me. Now I want to make it my city again. I'm always open to taking on partners."

"I heard of what happens to your 'partners', Hornet."

The Green Hornet shrugged carelessly. "Whatever. You can be my partner and help me run some very profitable enterprises, or you can be one of this guy's 'pets'. Because I can promise you that after the smoke clears there'll be nothing else."

Buske nodded to himself. Despite his barbaric appearance, he had an intelligence to match his ambition. And he was very ambitious.

"Y'know, Hornet, you might have a point there. I don't much like the idea of being your partner. Like I said, I've heard what happens to your partners . . . "

"Only to the ones who are stupid enough to cross me . . . " the Green Hornet interrupted.

"Yeah, sure," Buske, said distrustfully, "But I sure as hell don't know shit about this new guy. No one's even seen him," Buske continued.

"No one?"

"No one as far as I hear, 'cept maybe one or two of his 'pet' gang leaders. But, the way I see it, you've been around a long time. Everybody knows the Green Hornet and everybody knows your rep. Even the rawest gang wannabe know you and knows not to mess with you. I like that. But this other guy . . . Hell, it could be a set up by the Feds. Hell, it could a sting to end all stings."

"So your point is . . . " the Green Hornet pressed impatiently.

"I'll work with you, Hornet, but far as it bein' a partnership. Let's just call this a mutual non-aggression pact. You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours." Buske's grin became wider, "Hell, I know where I can get you some good shit, and I got me some fresh ass if you'd like a sample of the goods."

"Thanks, but no thanks," the Green Hornet replied, "Just tell me what you do know about this new guy and who he has in his back pocket."

"I don't know nothin' about the guy, but I hear that Trini Mbeka and Oscar Romanov are in real tight with him." Buske answered.

"Mbeka's head of the Trinidad gang, isn't he?" the Green Hornet asked.

"Yeah, and Romanov's fighting for control of the Moscow mugs. It's gonna be either him, or Scholenski who winds up running the whole tribe."

"I take it the mystery man's backing Romanov."

"That's what I hear."

The Green Hornet nodded to Kato, "Time we leave." He added to Buske, "I'll keep in touch."

Buske grinned. "Yeah, you do that."

One of the men playing pool spotted the two masked men easing out of the crowded bar. "Hey you're the two assholes who ran over my bike!" he yelled as he lumbered drunkenly toward them.

Kato shot a questioning look at the Green Hornet. The Green Hornet shook his head. "Ignore him."

"I said you wrecked my bike!" the man repeated. "You owe me a ton of money for it." he added as he grabbed up a nearly full beer bottle and smashed it against the pool table.

The Green Hornet glanced at Buske who was watching what was happening with unconcealed glee. No help from that quarter, he thought. "Head for the door," he said under his breath to Kato.

"But . . . "

"Move," the Green Hornet said tersely. He didn't want Kato's hot head to get them in any deeper than they were already.

The man was coming closer, waving the jagged end of the beer bottle in his hand. "I loved that bike, man. I spent a whole lotta dough on it, and now yer gonna pay for it," he growled. The other men were now noticing what was happening and were starting to fall in behind him. Some merely saw it as an interesting diversion. Others, too many, were eager for any excuse for a fight. Especially if it was against only two men.

With a single move the Green Hornet pulled the Hornet Sting from the pocket inside his coat and snapped it to nearly its full length. The Gas gun would be better at dropping the man, but the Sting would be more impressive on the gathering crowd.

"I suggest you don't take another step, my friend," the Green Hornet warned, aiming the sting at the approaching man.

The man took another step. The Hornet sting shrilled up the scale until everyone's ears were hurting from the high pitch of its sonic beam. The bottle in the man's hand dissolved into sand-sized bits of glass.

Howling and cursing, the man danced around in pain. Although his hand had only caught the side-wash from the Sting, it was enough to make his hand feel like it had been stung by a dozen angry hornets.

"Anyone else?" the Green Hornet growled.

Everyone shook their head.

"Next time, my friend," the green-masked man said, "Remember not to park in the middle of the street. You could lose a lot more than a motorcycle the next time." he added to the man nursing his injured hand under his armpit.

Still aiming the Hornet sting on the crowd, the Green Hornet began to slowly back toward the rear door. There was still too much distance for him to cover. Kato waited anxiously near the hallway. For each step he took, the crowd edged warily with him. From the corner of his eye, he could see Kato glancing between him and the crowd. Kato started taking few steps toward him. The Green Hornet prayed that Kato wouldn't do anything to set the crowd off. Cobra-like it followed his every move, waiting for the slightest sign of weakness on his part. The distance to safety was getting shorter.

Just a few feet more, the Green Hornet thought. His attention wavered for a moment.

A glass missile soared overhead, striking the Green Hornet in the head. He fell to his knees as the Sting skittered out of sight across the filthy floor. Roaring as if from a single throat, the crowd surged over the masked man, engulfing him in a sea of fists and feet.

The Green Hornet fought back, smashing his fists into anything that came close. Noses, faces, stomachs, anything to stop from being buried. He dodged a cue stick aimed his head and wrenched it free from his attacker's hands. Using it like a quarterstaff, he jammed its butt into the belly of the man closest to him and caught another across the chest with the other end. There were so many of them he couldn't tell one person from another. All he could do was fight. Or die. Above it all he could hear Kato's catlike yowls and the clacking of nunchuks hitting solid targets.

Swinging the nunchuks about him, Kato threw himself into the fray. The wooden ends of the nunchuks whistled through the air, whacking heads and anything else that was exposed. Kato spun and pirouetted, circling the nunchuks through the air and around his body until the weapon was nothing but a blur. With flying kicks and punishing blows, Kato quickly cleared a space around the Green Hornet.

Kato crouched, holding one end of his weapon in hand, the other under his arm, ready to snap it out against anyone stupid enough to get too close. There was utter silence broken only by winded breathing and moans.

"You okay, boss?" Kato chanced, not daring to spare a moment of concentration.

"Yeah," the Green Hornet gasped out as he steadied himself on one of the few tables still standing.

The crowd was reduced by nearly half with many of the men either unconscious or sporting bloodied heads and bruised bodies. Buske remained on his throne, untouched by the surprisingly brief melee as if it happened every day.

Probably does, the Green Hornet thought ruefully as he watched the eyes of the men still circling them. Thankfully the fight was out of most of them. Some were even limping back to the pool tables or to the bar for a drink. There were still too many who were too interested in them. Not good.

"Hey, Hornet, nice fight!" Buske yelled, throwing the Hornet sting to the masked man. The Green Hornet caught it almost without looking. It felt good to feel its solid weight in his hands.

"Party's over," Buske yelled as he smashed a fist against the jukebox next to him. A sad country music song about lost love filled the air. "Drinks are on the house!"

"You owe me, Hornet," he said to the masked man.

The Green Hornet nodded as he chanced touching the tender spot on his head. When he pulled his hand away it was damp with blood. His hat had protected his head to some degree, but the breaking glass had left a deep cut in his scalp. Yeah, sure, I owe him all right, he thought, owe him a smack across the chops one of these days.

Now it was definitely time to leave. He walked to Kato's side. The younger man was starting to relax as the crowd was starting to melt away.

"Thanks," he said to Kato, "Good job."

Suddenly before his horrified eyes, Kato's answer was lost in a look of pain and shock. The Green Hornet caught him just before he slumped to the ground. In his back was the short shaft of a crossbow bolt.

The road-house's front wall disintegrated in front of him.

A grinning Lowery stepped out from behind the Black Beauty's steering wheel. "Need a hand?" the reporter asked. He looked back at the smashed wall, "I always wanted to do that," he added with a wide grin. Spotting the bolt protruding from Kato's back, all cockiness left the blonde reporter. "Oh my god," he breathed. "Let me give you a hand," he said to the Green Hornet.

"No, I'll take him. Open the back door," the masked man ordered harshly as he lifted Kato into his arms. He tried to spot whoever had fired the bolt, but he could see no one with a crossbow.

"Let's get out of here," he said after placing Kato onto the back seat.

Lowrey shoe-horned himself back behind the steering wheel. "Sure, boss."

The Black Beauty thumped and bumped over several motorcycles as it backed out. Now they're short even more motorcycles, the Green Hornet thought grimly, not that I give a damn.

A tall crew-cut haired blonde man, Anthony Hakenkrueze, stepped up from behind the motorcycle gang leader's throne. "I told you to hold them until we could get here," he growled to Buske.

"Maybe you oughta move a little faster next time," Buske answered.

"Why did you give that back to the Hornet?"

"What?"

"That black rod. I wanted it."

"Should've told me earlier. Oh, but that would've meant you showing your face," Buske said contemptuously, "Instead of letting my guys do all the work."

"It's not yet time for the Green Hornet to know I'm still alive."

Buske glared at the neo-Nazi, "You afraid of him?"

Hakenkrueze pulled Buske's face close to his. "Don't you ever dare say that," he hissed.

Buske tore Hakenkrueze's hands away from his vest. "Be careful, Hakenkrueze. I ain't one of your 'pets' and I ain't no more your partner than I'm the Hornet's. You cross me and you'll be sorry," he threatened.

"'Sides," he said returning to the subject of the Hornet Sting. "If he was missing it, he'd just come back to find it. My place is wrecked enough as it is. You have any idea how much it's gonna cost me to replace that wall?" he groused.

Hakenkrueze smiled grimly. "With the money I'm paying you, you can replace it with patio seating," the neo-Nazi answered.

One of Hakenkrueze's men stepped up to his leader. "Your orders, sir. Shall we pursue them?"

Hakenkrueze looked down at Buske who merely shrugged. "Knuckles," Husky called to one of his men. "Get your boys on what's left of their bikes and slow that car down."

Buske glared at Hakenkrueze, "My boys'll delay 'em enough for you to get your crew together. After that, you're on your own."

"I wouldn't have it any other way." For now Hakenkrueze was willing to work with, and pay, Buske. Afterwards, Buske would be the first to go. Buske would pay dearly for ruining his original plan for getting the Green Hornet

"How is he?" Lowrey shot back to the Green Hornet as they sped away from the road-house.

The Green Hornet gingerly touched the shaft protruding from Kato's back, then tenderly touched a bare hand against the younger man's face. "He's hurt bad," he replied, "but he's still alive. Get us home as fast as you can."

"Sure. Look, boss, you know that even though I rib the Kid all the time, I really kind of like him."

"I know you do. Don't spare the horses," the Green Hornet replied as he tried to make Kato more comfortable. "The Black Beauty has plenty to spare, so use them all."

"Will do." Lowrey chanced a glance into the rear view mirror. "We got some visitors," he said, spotting a pack of motorcycles coming up fast behind them.

"Lose them," the Green Hornet said tersely as he pulled the scarf around his neck off. He pressed it around Kato's wound. There was so much blood . . .

The black car surged forward under the reporter's urging, but the road was only two lanes wide, hemmed in by heavy forest and twisted blindly at unexpected times. There was no way he could take advantage of its full power. He could barely see anything past the twin beams of the Black Beauty's powerful headlights. It was like tunneling through darkness that seemed to be almost a solid thing. Behind him he could see the lights of the pursuing motorcycles dancing and weaving as they ate up the distance between them. He spared a quick glance at the Green Hornet. Lowrey had known that Britt Reid was the Green Hornet since previous fall, when he had accidentally found Lee in the Reid townhouse working on the Black Beauty. The man sitting there in the back seat attending to his aide's injury however, wasn't the Britt Reid he had always thought he had known. There was a grim hardness in the man the reporter had never seen before. Talk about an iron fist in a kid glove. This time the kid gloves were off.

Suddenly a shot gun blast peppered the Black Beauty from behind. Lowrey flinched. The Black Beauty swerved off onto the road's soft shoulder. "Keep her on the road," the Green Hornet ordered.

"But . . . " Lowrey gasped.

"She's bulletproof. Keep going."

"Right," Lowrey answered, not fully believing the Green Hornet's word. Another blast hit the Black Beauty, the noise alarmingly loud despite the solid car's sound deadening insulation. He flinched again, again swerving onto the shoulder as several blasts followed, each one sounding louder and closer.

"Lowrey, keep her on the road," the Green Hornet warned. "It's not going to do Kato, or us, any good if you run into one of those trees."

"Don't you have any of those rockets you could use on them?"

The Green Hornet glanced behind them. "Can't," he replied. "They're too small and agile. They'd just dodge them. It'd be waste of ammunition."

Again the Black Beauty was peppered by shotgun blasts. This time the reporter did not flinch. The leading motorcyclists, dressed in makeshift junk yard armor, finally catching up with the Black Beauty, began swinging at it with chains and duct tape wrapped clubs. Lowrey swerved, trying to avoid them.

"What're you doing?" the Green Hornet asked tightly, trying to make sure that the still unconscious Kato didn't fall to the floor.

"I don't want to run into them."

The Green Hornet sighed tiredly. This was going to be one hell of a long night. "You outweigh them by several tons. Let them worry about being hit."

A loud bump and an even more alarming thump were followed by a man's angry scream. Lowrey looked behind to see a man leaping away from a smashed motorcycle as it bounced into the woods. The motorcycles were still pursuing, but had started to pull back.

"Isn't there something . . . ?" Lowrey asked. "I'd really rather not run over somebody."

"Do I see a soft spot in the Sentinel's star reporter?"

Lowrey didn't know whether to feel proud at being called a star reporter or embarrassed at the hint he might have a soft spot. "Kato's not going to want to clean up the mess," he replied instead.

In the darkness of the Black Beauty's back seat the Green Hornet could hardly see Kato's face. All he knew was that the young man was still alive. He nodded grimly. At this point he didn't care if they ran over a few of the Knights or not, but the reporter did have a point. He tilted out the weapons control panel set in the middle of the back of the front seat. Rockets wouldn't do any good, but a slick road would be a big help. Black oil sprayed out from nozzles set under the Black Beauty's rear bumper.

Lowrey spared a quick laugh as he watched motorcycles go careening all over the place. Soon there was no one behind them. He let off the gas pedal a little bit.

"Don't slow down," the Green Hornet ordered.

"Shit!" the reporter screamed, suddenly seeing a huge tractor trailer across the road ahead of them. Both of his feet flew for the brakes.

"No!" the Green Hornet screamed at him, "Faster. Go faster!"

"But . . . " Lowrey protested.

"You've just run through the wall of a building. A trailer is mostly aluminum. Ram it through the center," he ordered as he flicked the switches for the rocket pod doors. "I'll make sure it's not in one piece when we go through."

Twin sets of rockets flared out from the pods behind the Black Beauty's parking lights. They struck and exploded just as the big car hit the trailer. From the other side the car emerged from the fireball unscathed.

Just a few miles ahead of them could be seen the clearing and bright lights for the entrance ramp to the freeway. "Let's go home, Lowrey." the Green Hornet said as he tiredly leaned back into his seat.

Hidden in a clearing near the ramp Hakenkrueze watched the Black Beauty make its escape.

"Shall we pursue?" his second in command asked.

"No, not yet."

"But, sir, what you said to Buske . . . " the man began.

"Not yet, I said. The time is not yet right. I may be forced to deal with a clown dressed in tin cans but I refuse to operate on anyone's timetable but my own." Hakenkrueze slapped a hand on his man's shoulder, "Don't worry, the time for battle will be very soon. Very soon, indeed."

II

Britt glumly watched the flames dance in the fireplace. He was tired and his head hurt like hell. Worse was the waiting. From the Black Beauty he had called Dr. Grant and had pleaded with him to come to the townhouse. Dr. Grant had insisted that they meet him at the nearest emergency room. Only after relentless pleading had Britt finally managed to get the doctor to meet them outside the hospital. A slight smile appeared on Britt's face. The good doctor's eyes had grown to the size of saucers when he saw the Black Beauty pull up.

He had climbed into the back seat without a word, trusting Britt's reasons for not bringing Kato into the hospital. Any questions he might have asked were silenced when he saw the crossbow bolt protruding from Kato's back. As the doctor gently examined the wound, Kato had regained consciousness. Britt could still remember the shudders that ran through the young man's body as he struggled to keep up the illusion of being tough enough to take the pain.

Britt had tried to insist that he help the doctor take care of the young man once they had gotten him into his quarters at the townhouse. The doctor wouldn't have any of it, nor would John. John had gone in with the doctor, leaving Britt alone in the livingroom. The only thing they would take was the gas gun. The doctor didn't have any chloroform and the Hornet gas was a powerful sedative. Lee would wake up with a roaring headache, but he would at least not have to endure being conscious while the bolt was being pulled from his back.

Should've gone with them anyway, Britt thought miserably. Not that he would have been much help. He was totally dead on his feet, but he balked at the idea of being left out on the sidelines. Not to be in on what was happening, that was more than he could bear.

He didn't even have Ed Lowrey's doubtful company. The lanky reporter had taken a taxi to take him to the Sentinel so he could write up the story of this night's adventure with the Green Hornet. Britt would have preferred that he keep silent about what had happened, but the reporter had a point. It would look suspicious if the reporter had not told the story since everybody at the road-house had seen him get out of the Black Beauty. The best way to kill rumors was to give explanations before the questions were even thought of.

Britt's eyes wandered around the room. The enigmatically smiling Kore facing him was about the only thing that was the same in the livingroom from the time when he had lived in the townhouse. Except for the archaic Greek sculpture of a young girl, everything else was in the state of change. The Danish modern couch was the same as were the built in bookcases, but the books were John's, and Lee's. The couch was only there until the new leather one John had ordered came in. A massive entertainment center filled with all sorts of electronic sound equipment stood where there used to be a stereo-console and most of the abstract art that had been on the walls were packed to be taken to the Valley Grove house's attic.

More subtle than the visible change was the feeling that things were very different from when Britt had lived here with Kato. Even though they had always been the best of friends, almost as close as brothers, there was always that small reserve that came from Britt being Kato's employer. Instead, John and Lee were roommates and the place reflected that fact. Lee had his father's old quarters and the upstairs were John's, but they shared the rest of the place. It reflected the tastes of both men. Or at least would once they finished making it theirs.

Too bad neither of them can cook or clean, Britt thought wryly, spotting clothes, dirty plates, and papers scattered on every flat and not so flat surface. The plants in the planter along the steps leading into the sunken livingroom had never looked so sad and the Kore was sporting a tie draped around its ancient marble shoulders.

Britt's heart froze when he heard Dr. Grant's heavy sigh as he came into the livingroom. The doctor's dark lined face was tired under the brillo pad curls of grey hair. His eyes were downcast as he wiped his hands in a towel. Not wanting to look into the doctor's eyes, afraid of what he might see there, Britt locked his gaze on the doctor's hands. Pale-palmed, dark chocolate brown, the doctor's hands were for a man of his size, surprisingly slender, the hands of a healer, delicate, but very strong. John followed the doctor, carrying the classic doctor's bag in his hands. The doctor spoke to John and took the bag from him. John turned back into Lee's quarters. They were alone.

"How are you doing?" the doctor said.

"Fine. How's Lee?" Britt asked. He didn't chance standing up as the doctor walked toward him. There was barely enough strength in him to sit upright never mind trying to stand.

"He'll survive," Doctor Grant answered. "The bolt tore some muscle and made a nasty hole in his right shoulder blade, but it stopped before it could reach anything vital. He won't be able to use his right arm for a while, but he's young and healthy. He'll be back to normal in no time. I'm glad you didn't try to pull it out."

"I've seen enough old movies to know you shouldn't do that," Britt answered, trying to sound not as worried as he felt.

"So you didn't learn that from personal experience?"

Britt shook his head, "Nope, never ran into any knights in shining armor before." He didn't add that he had once narrowly missed being skewered by a big game hunter, but that was another story.

The doctor sat next to Britt and began to probe the cut the beer bottle had left. Britt hissed in pain when the doctor cleaned the wound with alcohol and antiseptic. "Maybe next time, you should duck," the doctor commented, as he applied a small piece of gauze and adhesive tape.

"I would've if I had seen it coming."

"Seems like all I've been doing lately is patching up that hard head of yours. Good thing you still have good head of hair, otherwise everybody would be calling you knothead from all the bumps on your head."

Britt nodded with a wry smile, "I guess you're right."

For a few moments there was an uneasy silence as the doctor put everything back into his bag. Britt concentrated on the dancing flames in the fireplace. The fire was starting to die down, but he made no move to put another log on.

Finally Doctor Grant spoke. "I guess I should've known you were up to something when you started showing up at my office with a lot more bruises and cuts than you usually do. I want to believe that you have a good reason for being the Green Hornet, but for the life of me, I can't. I've known you ever since your children were born, but this Green Hornet. I can't reconcile what I've heard about him with the man I know Britt Reid to be."

Closing his eyes tiredly, Britt sighed, "It started a long time ago with my father being framed for a murder he didn't commit," he began.

"Revenge?"

"No, not revenge. Desperation. I had no other way to prove his innocence. I thought that as a masked man I could get the answers I needed. Funny thing, it wasn't the Green Hornet who finally proved his innocence."

"Why didn't you quit after that?"

"I seriously considered it, but by then the Green Hornet was too useful. I could investigate crimes without involving the Sentinel," Britt explained, thinking that it was ironic that John had said nearly the same words to him a few scant days ago. "Underworld figures are far more willing to talk to another gangster than to the editor of a newspaper. Ed Lowrey just said it today, Britt Reid has to accept 'no comment' as an answer. The Green Hornet doesn't."

"So that story about the gangland attack . . . "

"It's true, as far as it goes, but it was the Green Hornet who was the victim. Not Britt Reid," Britt explained.

"So you decided to retire . . . "

Britt shook his head. "The decision was forced on me. Lee's father left after I woke up at the hospital. I guess he thought that if he didn't leave, I would continue with the Green Hornet until I finally did get myself killed."

"Was he right?"

Britt shrugged. "I don't know. Probably."

"So why the Hornet now?"

"Lee. His father had been murdered and he wanted the Black Beauty so he could get his revenge on the people who did it."

"And you couldn't let him do it alone."

"That's about it in a nutshell."

"And now you can't stop."

"As much as I think I should, I can't. There's still so much corruption in this city and there's nothing I can do about it as the head of the Daily Sentinel. The Green Hornet still has his usefulness."

"Okay, for now, I'll accept what you're telling me," Doctor Grant said reluctantly. "And I'll remain your doctor. Somebody has to keep you and your family in one piece. But Britt I would strongly advise you to seriously think about retiring the Green Hornet. You can't physically keep this up much longer."

"That's something I think about every time I climb into the Black Beauty," Britt admitted reluctantly. "But so far the reasons for continuing have been more compelling than those for stopping." Britt didn't add that his biggest fear was that the day he gave up the green mask would be the day John took it up. He would do everything in his power to make sure that day never came.

III

Danielle was starting to have a few doubts about leaving on her adventure with Jacques. He had cautioned her that she should not mention it to either of her parents. Instead she had told them that she was going upstate to see a friend and take some pictures at the wildlife preserve. It was almost the truth, but she hated being less than totally truthful, especially since Lee's injury a few days ago. Her father was going around like there was a black cloud hanging over his head. Even Lee seemed less than his normally confident self. Maybe she should have told them, but then she would have been forbidden to go. That's the last thing she wanted to happen.

The drive had done a lot to lift her gloomy spirits. While spring was in full swing in the southern part of the state, it was just making its appearance in the north. There was something special about the countryside awakening from a winter's slumber. Sure, the city seemed to quicken and brighten with the coming of spring, but in the country the change was magical. Everywhere she looked, life was being reborn. Frozen streams were breaking free from their icy prisons, tumbling and gurgling over melting mounds of ice and snow. Wild crocuses were peeking through blankets of snow and tiny songbirds were chirping happily as they flitted from the branch to branch of newly budding trees. The moist cool air was so fresh and pure that her lungs fairly ached.

"You look thoughtful, mon cheri," Jacques commented as he carefully drove the rented SUV on the muddy road toward Julius Archer's lodge.

"I was just thinking about how nice it is to be in this part of the country at this time of the year."

"Oui, it is most lovely."

"Have you ever had a chance to see this side of the United States when you come over here?"

"Non, never. Usually I see only the cities, sometimes I may go to places like Aspen or Vail in the winter, but never like this."

"Does this seem too rustic to you?" she asked.

"Non, it is the opposite. It is more, what do you say? More real. So many places I have been to have been dressed up like a movie set for tourists and the rich who want their beauty homogenized."

"Is it like that in Europe too?"

"Oui, in many places, yes. I do not have much chance to see the more natural side of things."

"Perhaps that's because you never go to places like this."

"Perhaps," Jacques agreed.

"I guess there's not much for a thief to steal out in the country."

Jacques chanced taking his eyes off the road for a few moments to study Danielle's profile. "You have been looking more into my background."

"Yes, I have."

"Then why are you doing this with me?"

"Because I believe in you."

"Believe in me? I do not understand."

Danielle looked at Jacques with a small smile on her face. "I know you're only doing this because it's the only way you can stay out of prison but, this might be your chance to go straight."

"Have you ever thought I might not want to go straight?"

"Why wouldn't you want to go straight?"

"Have you ever thought what the straight life means?"

"I don't understand."

"The straight life means being just one of the crowd. It means being just like everyone else. It means working for someone or being somebody's boss. It means being predictable and responsible. It means doing the same thing every day, every year, with perhaps a few weeks off for good behavior. And even then you wind up doing something everybody else is doing, doing what everybody else expects you to do. It is a prison with no bars."

"It's not all that bad. Besides I'd think that with your money, you wouldn't have to work a day in your life. You can just travel from place to place, spending your money and having a party every day of your life."

"I tried that Dani. It does not work."

"Why?"

"Because it is too boring. There is no purpose. It may be a type of freedom, but for what? After a while you find that there no reason to get up in the morning. No reason even for existing. So you wind up masking the pointlessness of your life in drugs and alcohol or in endless rounds of thrill seeking."

"And so Jacques the cat burglar is better than everyone else, because the only rules he has to follow is his own."

"Oui."

"But what's the point?"

"I do not understand."

"What's the point? You steal all these things from people you have absolutely no respect for, for what? If it's not for the money, then why? Isn't it just another type of thrill seeking?"

Jacques was silent for a few moments, then said, "I have never thought about that."

"Perhaps you should. Maybe having to steal back rare art treasures is the best thing that can happen to you. That way you can still have your precious freedom, and yet have some kind of purpose to your life."

"Ah, Dani," Jacques said with a brief laugh, "You are a wonder. Ever you are the reformer."

"Sometimes you just have to have someone else point things out to you."

"Maybe," Jacques agreed thoughtfully.

"Do you ever regret the way you live your life?"

"Why?"

"Do you have any real friends or have anything to do with your family?"

"Non," Jacques sighed regretfully.

Danielle placed her hand gently on Jacques' arm. "Maybe it's time to start."

"Maybe."

Jacques took the turn off for the White Pine Lodge. If it was possible the road was even worse than the one that they had been on. While the other one had occasionally been plowed during the winter, this one had not been touched during the entire season. Most of it was covered in deep snow and slick ice except for those few areas where the sun had managed to break through the thick lattice of the bare tree branches that arched overhead. In those places instead were deep quagmires of thick clay-laced mud.

Jacques had to physically manhandle the car as it slid from one treacherous spot to the next. "Perhaps, Dani, this was not such a good idea after all." he said after what seemed like hours of driving, "Maybe in another week or two..." Or month, or year... he mentally amended.

Danielle chewed her lip uncertainly. From the looks of things they could have left the road a long time ago. She looked at the clock on the dash. Only an hour had passed. "Just a little more," she urged.

"Dani, I don't know..." Jacques began doubtfully.

"There!" Danielle suddenly said, spotting a break in the thick forest cover. "There's the river. Right through the trees. It won't be much farther now," she said encouragingly."

Finally they reached a small meadow that been had formed by a bend in the river that Danielle's friend had told them about. "See, what did I tell you?" Danielle said as Jacques pulled the SUV off of the road and behind a stand of trees that hid it from the view.

"Except from here we will have to walk," Jacques glumly reminded her.

Danielle pulled out the cameras that Lee had suggested she bring with her and began trudging through the deep snow drifts toward the lodge that they could barely see through the trees. Danielle turned to watch Jacques. She smiled as he seemed to be considering locking up the SUV, then thought better of it. It's not like anyone was going to take off with it. Still he was wary as he followed after Danielle.

"I wish we could hide the car better," he grumbled.

Danielle pointed out the deep track in the snow they had left behind them, "I don't think it's going to be possible to anyone not to notice that we are here. That is even if there is anyone around to notice. Remember, we're just a pair of nature lovers out to take some pictures."

Jacques just looked at her, raised an eyebrow, then with a shake of his head took one of Danielle's cameras from her before heading off toward the lodge.

After what seemed like an eternity of slogging through the thick, damp snow, they finally reached the lodge that sat alongside a tumbling stream that fed into the river. It was still half buried in snow, with long dripping icicles decorating its wide eaves. It looked like no one had been there all winter long.

Danielle snapped off one picture after another. "Isn't it beautiful?" she said to Jacques who was carefully examining the grounds near the building. "Even I can look like a pro with a subject like this." she enthused.

"Take a few more pictures over there," Jacques said with a nod toward some of the trees.

Danielle glanced up to see a camera hidden among the branches. Then she noticed several more including one near the lodge's front door.

"Even if no one is here, there is always someone watching," Jacques commented, leading the way around the building.

For the benefit of anyone who might be watching from the cameras, Jacques played the role of director, showing Danielle where to shoot and suggesting possible angles. All the while he made sure that cameras and possible sites for alarms were framed in the photographs.

He casually walked up to the back door and tried it. The lock was good, but not impossible to pick. When Danielle wasn't looking he quickly pulled out his lock pick set and had the door open in a few moments.

"Looks like they left a door open," he commented to her.

Danielle's eyebrow rose disbelievingly. "Yeah," she said, "I guess out in the wilderness people don't feel the need to lockup during the winter."

Danielle stomped her feet on the stoop before following Jacques into the lodge. It was as impressive on the inside as it was on the outside. Navaho rugs were scattered everywhere on the gleaming wooden floor and were hanging on the walls as well. Heavy leather couches and chairs in thick log frames were arranged in small conversational groups around small leather topped tables. A huge stone fireplace big enough to accommodate a king size bed easily dominated the large room. A large mantel piece of shale supported a collection of carved black Santa Clara and San Ildefonso pots as well as delicate black-painted white Acoma pottery.

Danielle began to take several pictures as Jacques walked around the large room. "You know," she commented, "those pots are worth a fortune."

"Are they?" Jacques answered as he looked more closely at them.

"Sure, not everything that's precious glitters."

"Oui, that is something I am learning lately. I will take a look upstairs while you check things down here," Jacques added as he started to climb a curving staircase of grey river stone and stripped logs.

"You know, Jacques, it's funny about that picture," Danielle said.

"What?" Jacques answered from the staircase.

"Everything here is old and expensive. These rugs, those pots, even the furniture. It's all top quality and very pricey. So why is there a cheap print over the fireplace?"

"Which one?" Jacques asked. There were three pictures over the mantel, each showing a hunting scene.

"The center one. The one with the huntsman and his dogs."

"Perhaps it is a lithograph, or a rare print, something that did not have a large print run," Jacques suggested.

Danielle tilted her head, studying the picture more closely. "No, I don't think so. There's something odd about it. The frame's awful thick for that picture."

Jacques eyes narrowed as he studied the picture from the staircase. She was right. The frame seemed to be slightly thicker than those for the other pictures. "Dani, take more pictures of it, and the fireplace and mantel too."

He quickly climbed down the stairs and began to consider the arrangement of the chairs and couches before the fireplace. There was one chair that seemed to be directly facing the fireplace and the center picture above it. He moved his fingers around the chair and the table beside it. There was a slight irregularity . . .

"Hey, what are you two doing here?" A man asked from behind them.

Jacques moved closer to Danielle and whispered, "Let me take the lead. Pretend you do not understand English."

"Bonjour Monsieur, it is so good to see someone here," he said, making his French accent as heavy as he could. "We were hoping to find someone here."

"What do you mean, hoping to find someone here?" the man asked. He was dressed in heavy winter clothing, but was walking around in stocking feet. Jacques could spot snow-covered boots standing just in front of the front door.

"I am so very sorry. We are lost. My fiancee, she suggested we come this way. The snow is so deep. We thought we would be trapped in the wilderness forever until we found this lovely place."

"What're you doing out here anyway?"

"My fiancee, she fancies she is a photographer. She wanted to take some pictures. I told her we should not go so far. But, she is a woman. Who can tell a woman anything?" he said with a dramatic sigh.

The man glanced over at Danielle who smiled blankly at him, even though she had a good mind to tell Jacques off.

"She does not understand English. A few words, hello, goodbye, how much, that is all she understands."

The man studied Danielle who smiled back at him. Smiling as sweetly as she could, she said in a heavy French accent, "Allo."

The man grinned back at her. "She's mighty pretty," he commented with a wink.

Jacques nodded, his smile growing wider. "Now you understand why I cannot say no to her."

The man shook his head, "Just get your stuff out of here. My boss'll kill me if he finds out people have been snooping around here."

"Of course, Monsieur, of course," Jacques said as he quickly shooed Danielle ahead of him.

Danielle gasped out a deep sigh of relief when they returned to the SUV. "Boy, that was too close."

"Oui, too close," Jacques agreed with a large grin.

"I guess that means we will have to forget it," Danielle said sadly.

"Non, pas du tout! Far from it."

"But I don't understand. That man will remember we were there. He might be able to identify us."

"Maybe, maybe not. But I am beginning to think that you are right."

"About what?"

"We must strike quickly. That man is just the beginning. I think very soon the house will be opened up and our chance will be gone. We will develop those pictures of yours when we get back to White Pine and then study them carefully. Tonight we will return."

"Do you think that's safe?"

"Nothing is safe, mon cheri. It is just that some things are less dangerous than others. This time it is more dangerous to wait than it is to act."

Jacques smiled as he watched Danielle pull the white knitted hood over her head. She had braided her hair tightly and had piled it on top of her head so that the hood would slip on easily. The smile she was wearing disappeared behind the hood, but her green eyes still danced merrily from the eye openings.

Danielle had questioned the white hoods and ski suits. "I thought cat burglars wore black," she had commented with a laugh.

He had told her, "Even the fox wears white in the winter."

For a moment he regretted the fact that he could never make the girl his partner. She had been right about the loneliness of his life. Unfortunately the fact that they could have been twins underscored the very reason that when he left the United States she would have to remain behind.

This time around they had "borrowed" a small four-wheel drive Subaru from a neighbor's locked garage and had exchanged its plates with those from another car parked at a restaurant. Danielle had been worried, but he had explained to that nothing would be harmed. Once done everything would be returned to its proper place with no one the wiser.

They were lucky that it was a bright night with a quarter moon hanging low on the horizon. This time they were able to follow in the tracks of the much larger SUV they had used earlier. That the SUV's tracks were widened by other vehicles gave him some pause, but he chose not to worry about them. Whatever happens, happens. C'est la vie, he thought philosophically. Tonight could the last time he would be truly free or it could be the beginning. With Dani as his lucky charm, he could not believe they would fail.

They left the Subaru back near the wide clearing along the river. It would be quite a walk to the lodge, but Jacques did not want to take any chances of being seen. The snow was deep and untracked as they slogged toward the lodge. Their high insulated boots keep their feet dry and warm as did their ski suits. Warmth did not have to be big bulky or heavy. Even in the deep snow it was a pleasure to watch the graceful movements of Danielle's slender figure.

Danielle froze at the edge of the lodge's clearing. Security lights hanging from the building's eaves brightly lit the grounds surrounding it.

"What will we do now?" she asked.

"Move quickly. There is no one around now. They may see us, but it will take them time to come. By then we will be gone. Do you know how to throw snowballs?" he asked.

Danielle nodded with a laugh. "Of course. I have a brother. I had to learn how or I'd have been creamed every winter."

"I want you to start throwing snowballs at the cameras we located from the pictures. Do not be obvious about it," he cautioned her. "Try to make it look like snow fell from above to cover the lens. He demonstrated by lobbing a snowball at snow laden branches above a camera hidden in a tree. The snow scattered down, covering the camera.

It did take not them long to disable the cameras that covered the back door. True to her word Danielle was quickly able to cover the cameras with snow. Jacques had to admit to himself that perhaps she was even better at it than he was. Covering the cameras would not completely prevent their being detected, but it would at least make it harder for the police and Archer's men to figure out who was behind the heist.

As before he quickly opened the back door and they were soon back in the great room.

"We must work quickly, mon cheri," he said to Danielle.

"Why?"

"There is no telling what types of alarms there might be. It is always best to work quickly. Then there is less chance of being caught."

Danielle gazed up at the picture above the massive fireplace. "Do you really think the painting is there?" she asked.

"Oui," Jacques answered. "Watch."

He sat down on one of the large leather chairs facing the fireplace. Running his fingers under the arm, he found a pair of small buttons. He pressed one. "Voila!"

A light came on over the picture.

"Nice," Danielle commented, critically studying the results. "Now I can see it even better. I still don't think it's a quality print," she said looking at the huntsman and his dogs.

Jacques tsked, "Such an art critic we have, but perhaps mademoiselle might prefer something else." He pressed the other button.

The light shifted, changed and as it did the huntsman and his dogs disappeared. In their place appeared the storm clouded skies of Toledo. Beneath them stood a father welcoming his long lost son.

"It is known as the Prodigal Son," Jacques explained.

"It's beautiful," Danielle breathed. "I agree, we can't let Archer keep it. This belongs to the world."

"And that is what we are going to do. We are going to bring it back so that the rest of the world can enjoy it."

Danielle smiled coyly at Jacques, "Do I detect a bit of an altruist in the cat burglar?"

Jacques rose to his feet and bowed. "If I can do it and stay out of prison, of course. Especially when I have such a charming companion."

"So, how are we going to get it down?"

"The mantle above the fireplace is very wide," Jacques explained, "I will boost you up there. Then you will hand the picture down to me."

Danielle looked at him doubtfully. "You sure you can lift me?" she asked. "I'm not that crazy about falling, you know."

"Do not worry. I am very strong. You will be as a bird's feather in my hands," he answered with a grin as he laced his fingers together to give her a step up.

With breathtaking quickness Danielle found herself standing on the broad mantle. It was far wider than she had expected, but that didn't make her feel any safer.

"Now check the picture," Jacques told her. "See if there are any wires attached to it."

Danielle gently ran her fingers around the picture. "Not that I can see," she replied. She eased the frame slightly away from the wall. "I can see some wires now. It looks like they're for the light, but I don't think I see anything else."

"We will have to take the chance," Jacques answered. "Carefully detach the wire, then I want you to lift the painting off the wall and hand it down to me."

"It's kind of heavy," Danielle cautioned.

"Just be careful."

After carefully removing the wires Danielle lifted the picture away from the wall, having to tiptoe precariously to free it from its hanger.

"Be careful, mon cheri. I do not want to choose between you and the painting."

"Thanks a heap," she muttered under her breath.

Finally Danielle lifted the painting free. It was far heavier than she had expected. She tottered for a moment then caught her balance. Jacques took the painting from her hands as she lowered it down to him. A side of the painting struck one of the black pots sitting on the mantle, making it wobble. Danielle grabbed for it, losing her balance in the process. She was falling with the pot in her arms.

Jacques caught her and the pot as well.

"Are you okay?" he asked as he set her down on shaking legs.

Danielle nodded as she placed the pot on the floor. "Yeah, I think so. What about the picture?"

"It is safe," Jacques replied.

He turned the picture face down and began to pry open the back. With great care he lifted it out, revealing the canvas back of the painting. Danielle handed him the large reinforced tube he had brought with him. Jacques rolled the painting and placed it gently into the tube.

"Now we are done. All we have to do is make sure we can get away without being caught," he breathed in relief as he sealed the tube shut.

"Uh, Jacques," Danielle said thoughtfully as she watched Jacques unroll the picture that had been in the tube and put it into the frame. "What would happen if we get caught or if Mr. Archer figures out we were the ones who took the painting?"

Jacques shrugged. "He cannot bring the police into this, so I do not think we will have to worry about them." He again laced his fingers together. "Now we must put everything back the way we found them. I fear our time is quickly running out."

Danielle obliged him by again stepping into his hands and again finding herself high up on the mantle. She managed to replace the frame without incident Finally everything was back in its place and Danielle found herself standing next to Jacques gazing at the masterpiece's replacement.

"You still haven't really answered my question," she said.

Jacques smiled making light of his own words, "The police will not be our concern. I think Monsieur Archer would chose to go with independent agents, those whose methods are not as concerned with justice as the police."

Suddenly feeling chilled, Danielle wrapped her arms around herself. Jacques wrapped an arm around her, "Do not worry. You will be safe. If they choose to go after anyone, if will be me. But, ma jolie, men like Monsieur Archer do not like to admit that they have been bested. I think he will choose to ignore our little escapade rather than admit his own fallibility. After all that is the way the game is played, you lose some, you win some. C'est la vie."

Danielle nodded at the replacement, "Even after that?"

Jacques grin broadened as he escorted Danielle to the front door. "Where is the fun if we cannot beard the lion in his own den?"

Behind them the picture was slowly disappearing behind the huntsman and his dogs. With a doubtful raising of an eyebrow, Danielle took one more glance at it. The stern mid-western couple of The American Gothic stared back at her. There was one slight difference from the original painting. The old man held his middle finger up in a defiant one-fingered salute.

Back in the car Danielle sleepily leaned her head on Jacques shoulder. "I can't wait until we get back to Elaine's. All I want to crawl into bed and sleep until noon."

"First we will have to replace the plates and return this car to its rightful owner," Jacques reminded her.

"You're right," she said with a tired sigh, "At least we didn't wreck it."

Jacques nodded in agreement. At least not yet, he thought, spying in the rear view mirror a large 4 X 4 coming up fast behind them. It was going too fast for the icy road. It looked too purposeful for his taste. There no turn offs, nowhere to dodge the big truck coming up behind them. Suddenly gunfire stitched the trees to their right. Danielle screamed. There was no where to go. Except...

Jacques swerved the Subaru off the road and down a short embankment.

"Are you crazy?" Danielle screamed seeing ahead of them the icy surface of a small lake. "We can't make it. The ice is too thin this time of the year!"

Jacques drove onto the lake's surface anyway. The Subaru skidded and slipped but still moved forward. The ice under its wheels seemed to groan under its weight, but held. The 4 X 4 truck stopped on narrow beach. It would be impossible for it to go around to the other side of the lake in time to catch up with the Subaru which was nearing the center of the lake.

Jacques saw the 4 X 4 roar onto the icy surface. He pressed on the gas, but all they did was slide faster. There was no controlling the small car. All he could do was keep it heading forward in a straight line. The ice was groaning under the big truck's weight. Cracks crazed out from under its wheels. The truck's driver gunned forward, but that only made the cracks appear more quickly. Water seeped between the cracks making them wider. The ice under the Subaru was tipping as cracks appeared under its wheels. They were nearly to the other side. Behind them the big truck was vainly trying to make it back to the near shore. Its rear wheels slipped and splashed into the water.

All thought of chasing Danielle and Jacques was forgotten. The big truck tipped and rocked as its tires spun and splashed, seeking solid ground. It could go no further and sank up to the middle of its high sides. The driver and his passenger were safe, but would have to wait to be rescued from the water sodden vehicle that had become a metal island in the middle of freezing cold water.

"I can't believe it! We made it!" Danielle exclaimed happily. She laughed and hugged Jacques. Ahead of them was a broad highway and the promise of a good rest.