Chapter Seven
Council of War
I
Frank pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes tiredly as he collapsed into the overstuffed arm chair in the living room of the Reid family home in Valley Grove. He had just finished explaining to John, Lee and Casey about his visit with Britt at the jail. He hadn't been able to reach Danielle and didn't know whether to be relieved not to have deal with her too or wishing he could have given her the bad news at the same time and gotten it all over at once.
Everyone had taken the news according to their nature. Casey's eyes had grown wide with shock and disbelief as he had told them the entire ugly story including the De la Culebra woman's involvement. Now Casey held a wadded up piece of tissue in a white knuckled grip, as tears flowed quietly down her cheeks. He had tried to assure her that Britt would have never willingly violated their marriage vows, but that still didn't make things any better, especially without Britt being there to reassure her.
Lee, sitting in the chair next to Casey, had remained grimly silent during Frank's discourse, his black eyes smoldering, a volcano waiting to explode into action. John, on the other hand, couldn't sit still. He paced back and forth like a caged tiger across the length of the room, fuming over Britt's explicit order forbidding John to take on the Green Hornet role.
"C'mon, Uncle Frank, there's got to be something we can do!" John finally exploded.
"You can help your mother keep things together at the Sentinel," Frank suggested quietly.
"You know what I mean. The Green Hornet can tear this city apart looking for the people behind this frame-up. Hell, I bet if he got his hands on Archer, he'd make him sing loud and clear. You know as well as I, that bastard is behind this."
"There's no proof . . . " Frank began.
"The Hornet can get the proof."
"Your father expressly said the Black Beauty stays in the garage," Scanlon reminded him firmly.
Lee shook his head. "You can't expect us just to sit on our hands while Mr. Reid gets railroaded right into the electric chair."
"Lee, Britt was very firm about this. No Green Hornet."
"Even if it means the difference between life and death for Mr. Reid?" Lee retorted angrily.
"It's not going to get to that. We'll get the proof we need to prove his innocence."
"How?" John demanded.
"I have a detective coming in from L.A. I've heard that she's one of the best in the business."
"From L.A.? Why didn't you get somebody who might have an inkling of what's going in this city instead of some outsider?"
"I'm getting her because she is an outsider. I'm planning to have her work undercover. Archer has his fingers in too many things in town. His people would spot a local in a minute. Besides I think Archer would be less suspicious of a woman."
"He might be less suspicious of a woman," Casey added thoughtfully, "but Shannon De la Culebra wouldn't."
"Maybe, but I think she's still our best bet."
"I still think you're wrong about the Green Hornet," John snapped.
"It's not my decision. It's your father's. I agree with him. It would be disastrous if you were captured as the Green Hornet."
"Do you honestly think so little of us that we'd make some kind of stupid mistake and get ourselves caught?" John retorted back.
"No, that's not it," Frank answered. "It's all a matter of luck. I've seen it time and again with your father. He was always running on the knife edge. All it takes is a little bit of the wrong kind of luck for the wrong people and the two of you could join him in jail or worse, in the morgue. He's not willing to take that chance and neither am I."
"But . . . "
"John," Casey interrupted. "Frank is right and so is your father. The Black Beauty stays put."
"But Mrs. Reid . . . " Lee started coming to John's side.
"The decision is made," she said firmly. "I will have enough to worry about with handling all the bad publicity this is going to create. It'll be a miracle if we can keep the Sentinel afloat. I don't want to have to worry that the next bad news I get is about my son and that of a family friend."
"We're not children," John retorted.
"Then try thinking like an adult, instead of acting like a spoiled child who isn't getting his own way," Casey shot back angrily. She gasped when she realized what she had said. With a heartbreaking sob she buried her face in her hands. "I'm so sorry, John, I didn't mean that. Oh, my god, what is happening to us?"
John protectively pulled his mother close to him. She buried her face against his chest, her shoulders shaking with barely controlled grief. Never before had he realized how much larger than his mother he was.
"You don't understand," she said. "Your father and I don't want what happened to him happen to you. You have no idea how it was after he was shot. For a whole week we didn't even know whether he would live or not. And when he finally did come out of that coma, there was the chance he would lose his leg. Then there were the months and months of physical therapy. Your father would get so frustrated that he couldn't even take a single step without help. And he was hurting so much all the time. The doctor wanted to give him a stronger pain killer, but he refused. He didn't want to become addicted. But he was hurting so much . . . John, how could we bear it if the same thing happened to you?"
"You're right, Mom," John said lifting up his mother's chin, "I'm sorry. I was only thinking about my own feelings. I should've thought about what you're going through." He sighed, exchanging looks with Lee who nodded his reluctant agreement, "We'll do whatever you think best. If you and Dad say No Green Hornet, than that will be it. For now . . . I don't like it, but I can understand you have enough to worry about. We just want to be able to do something."
"I know you do," Casey answered, gently pulling away from John, trying to force a brave smile for him.
"We have a lot of people at the Sentinel who will want to help too. We have a lot of ears and eyes in this city. You and Lee can be a big help by coordinating things. We have to have someone whom everyone can report to. Somebody who can coordinate all the reports and make sense of them. I know that's not as exciting, but it will be a lot more helpful to me."
"How are we going to break this to Danielle?" Lee asked.
"Yeah, where is she?" John said.
"John?" Danielle said as she came into the living room. Jacques trailed behind her, the uncertain look on his face mirroring hers. "Why is everyone here?" Her eyes widened as she saw Casey's red-rimmed eyes and the grim looks on John's, Lee's and Scanlon's faces. "What happened? Where's Dad?"
Frank came to her. "I'm sorry, Dani . . . "
"Dad? Uncle Frank, where is my father? Has something happened to him? Is he okay? Oh, my god, what's happened?" She demanded, her voice starting to rise in panic.
"He's okay, Dani," Frank said in his most reassuring voice as he grasped her hands. "He's in jail . . . " he began.
"In jail, why?" Her eyes spun to Jacques. She couldn't mention her fear about the possibility of her father being discovered as the Green Hornet in front of the young Frenchman.
"He's been framed for murder," Frank continued. " It's a set up. The police found him in a hotel room where there was a lot of blood and it looked like there had been a fight. They're claiming that he murdered a girl who had gone up to the room with him."
"Oh, no," Dani gasped, "Who was she?"
"Somebody by the name of Christy Isaacs. Have you ever heard of anyone by that name?"
Danielle shook her head. "No."
"What about you, Mr. Le Blanc?"
"Non."
"How did she die?" Jacques asked.
"We're not sure. There wasn't any body."
"Then how can the police be sure that anyone was killed?"
"They aren't sure, which is about the only thing in our favor," Frank admitted reluctantly.
"But they are still holding him in jail?" Jacques asked.
"For now, yes. We're working on getting him out as soon as possible." Frank replied.
"Where were you with my sister?" John demanded.
Jacques hesitated. "We were up North. Danielle was taking some pictures."
"Taking pictures?" John asked. "Why? Of what?"
"Do you have any idea who might be behind the frame up?" Dani broke in.
"Nothing definite yet. Although we suspect that Shannon de la Culebra might have a hand in it," Frank answered.
"Mrs. De la Culebra? Does that mean that Mr. Archer might be involved too?" Danielle asked worriedly. "Jacques, do you think . . . ?"
"No, the timing is all wrong."
"What do you mean timing?" John demanded. "What have the two of you been doing? And don't tell me you were just taking pictures."
"Well, you could say that we were taking pictures. Or more precisely we took a picture . . . " Jacques began.
"What picture?"
"We had to . . . " Danielle began.
"What do you mean you had to?"
"Jacques had to steal this picture back from Mr. Archer or Interpol will put him in prison."
"So I was right about him being nothing about a two-bit thief."
"No, you're wrong about that. Mr. Archer had stolen this picture and Interpol wanted Jacques to steal it back from him."
"Why didn't they just arrest him and get it back that way?"
"Because they weren't sure. Besides you know about people like Mr. Archer. There's no way any type of police could have gotten to him. They would have had to have proof. And that's almost impossible to do," Danielle explained.
John rounded on Jacques, crowding him against the front door, "So you decided to involve my sister in this little escapade of yours?"
"Monsieur . . . ," Jacques began.
"That's not it at all, John," Danielle interrupted, pushing herself between her brother and Jacques, "It was my idea. I was the one who figured out where it was hidden. We had to do it. It's a never before seen masterpiece by El Greco. It's absolutely beautiful. We couldn't allow Mr. Archer to deny it from the rest of the world. Especially since he stole it on the way to a museum in the first place."
"I don't give a damn if it is a masterpiece or not, there's no way you should have gotten involved with that French bastard in the first place," John replied heatedly. He snorted angrily, "Bastard is right . . . "
He glared at Jacques, "When were you planning to tell her that you're our half-brother? Or do you get off on incest?"
"Monsieur, I have never treated Danielle with anything but the deepest respect. I have never touched her," Jacques answered stiffly.
"Half-brother? Jacques?" Danielle asked of the Frenchman.
"Your father knew my mother when he was living in France. That was just before his father died. When he left, he did not know my mother was pregnant."
"But didn't she ever tell him?"
"Non. The Count, the man I call father, believed me to be his son. My mother felt it was not necessary to tell him otherwise, even if he might have guessed the truth. It was easier to believe the lie than to expose the truth. Besides, he wanted an heir. She gave him one, something none of his other wives or lovers were able to do. Little would have been accomplished if she told him that my true father was a young American who had gone back to the United States."
"So was our father just a..., a... , sperm donor?" John asked.
Jacques sighed and shrugged, "You do not understand. It is a matter of maintaining one's line. If there are no male heirs, a man has no one to pass his name on to. My father was a very proud man. He had tried many times with many women with no success. My mother knew that she would be cast aside as had the others if she did not give him an heir."
"So she used our father to get what she wanted."
"That surely is a harsh way to put it, but . . . " again Jacques shrugged and sighed. He shook his head, "You cannot understand. My mother said she was quite fond of your father. She enjoyed the time she had with him, but as Comtessa, it is a matter of duty, and family. She loved the Count so much she would do anything to give him what he desired the most. A son. Me. They had very long and happy marriage and my father died a happy man."
"So why are you here? Really. And don't give me that bull about stealing some damn picture from Archer."
"That is the truth. Interpol gave me the choice of either recovering the painting from Archer or going to prison. Thanks to Dani, I will be a free man once I return the painting to France."
"Do you really expect me to believe that?" John retorted. "I bet you're in league with Archer. What are the two of you planning?" Grabbing the front of Jacques' shirt, he pushed him against the wall. "Are you planning on destroying my father and then demanding that as the eldest son you get control of the Sentinel? Is that it? And then what? Turn the Sentinel over to Archer like the bastard you are?"
Jacques angrily grabbed John's hands and pushed him away. "I have no designs on your precious little paper. I have enough wealth coming from businesses all over Europe and around the world for that matter as a Le Blanc. Do you honestly think I would even consider risking all that for a mere newspaper? Especially one as small as your own? I may be, in your words, a bastard, but I am not a fool."
"Then what's his hold on you?" John demanded, "What kind of plan are you two working on?"
"Nothing," Jacques angrily retorted.
John swung at Jacques. Jacques ducked, slamming an uppercut into John's jaw. John staggered briefly, recovered, threw another punch. Jacques blocked, returning John blow for blow.
"Stop it!" Danielle screamed. "Lee, help me stop them! This is insane! Somebody stop them!"
Danielle threw herself between Jacques and John while Lee stepped in to hold the still raging John. "This has got to stop! This is not the time for us to fight among ourselves," she pleaded.
Jacques shakily drew himself erect, wiping at blood from a split lip. "Perhaps you should explain that to your hot-headed brother. Fou!" he spat. "If there is any one of this family I would expect to see in jail, it would be him. He does not have the sense of a gnat." He turned to leave.
"Jacques," Danielle cried, "Don't go."
She turned to her mother and Scanlon, "Mom. Frank. Don't you see? Maybe he can help us. He does have an in with Mr. Archer. Maybe he can find things out from him that we can't."
"I don't know," Scanlon answered. "If Archer has any suspicions that the two of you were the ones who stole that picture, it would only put you in more danger."
"But don't you think that if Jacques left right after the picture was stolen, that might make it more obvious that he was the one who did it? Wouldn't it be better if he stayed around, acting like nothing happened? Jacques?" she asked turning to her half-brother.
"That would be more logical to remain in the city then to leave immediately," Jacques reluctantly agreed.
"And, logically, you would still see Mr. Archer and act like nothing has happened, right?"
"Oui . . . "
"And if you happen just to hear something . . . "
"Now, Dani . . . "
"Jacques, even though the Count was not your birth-father, you thought of him as your father, didn't you?"
"Of course, he treated me like a son of his own flesh."
"And you loved him a lot, didn't you?"
Jacques nodded. "Oui," he said very quietly.
"Then you must understand how I feel. And how John feels. If something happened to our father while he is in jail or if he gets convicted . . . " her voice caught for a moment. "Please Jacques, stay and help me . . . , us," she begged.
Jacques glared at John. "I do not know . . . " he hesitated.
"Jacques," Casey said, "Dani is right. We need all the help we can. Will you help us?"
"Mom . . . " John began.
"John, we need his help. We need someone on the inside with Archer. Jacques can be that someone," she answered.
"I don't trust him."
"I know. Dani? Do you trust Jacques?"
Danielle studied Jacques for a few moments. He drew himself up very straight, very proudly. In many ways he looked so much like her father. Slighter in build maybe, but he had the same pale blue-green eyes and dark hair. He was like a younger edition of Britt Reid. She looked deeply into his eyes. He did not ask for her approval, but stood on his own terms, demanding to be judged according to them. Was he the kind of man her father would have become if he had never had to run the Sentinel? If he had never become the Green Hornet?
"Jacques, will you help us?" she asked.
"For you, for Madame Reid, for Monsieur Britt Reid, oui."
"Then I trust you. John?"
John shook his head, "Whatever you say, Sis. I think this is going to be a big mistake, but like you said, we need all the help we can get." He lifted his hand to Jacques, "Peace," he said, "Just don't hurt my sister, huh? After all she's your sister too. Remember that."
Jacques bowed formally. "I will not betray the trust of my sister."
II
Britt, Casey thought as she watched as the staff of the Daily Sentinel file into the studio. It was the only place in the Sentinel big enough to fit the paper's large staff. Everybody from the youngest paper hawker to the loading dock crew to the heads of the editorial departments had been invited. She knew it was important that she tell everybody about what was going on. People were worried about the Sentinel's future and afraid for their jobs. Rumors were running like a wildfire through the paper, especially since reporters were notorious as professional gossips. She had to speak to them before things got completely out of hand.
I can't do this, Britt. I can't. Oh god, Britt . . .
The garish, sequin-covered set behind her added a bizarre twist. Every day, High or Low, a popular game show produced by DSTV was filmed before a live studio audience. Huge lines filled with people hoping to be lucky enough to get one of the free tickets for the show would form outside the paper hours before the broadcast. In the show contestants pulled from the audience would guess the prices of different products. The stakes were sometimes high with a single guess meaning all the difference between leaving with a valuable prize or nothing at all.
High stakes. This time they couldn't be any higher. Casey looked down at the carefully prepared statement in her hands. Frank and the kids had helped her frame a very careful announcement of the Reid family's stance about Britt's arrest. She would make the statement and then leave without a question and answer session. It was planned for everything be as clear cut as possible. The words on the paper sounded so very detached and so very logical. Casey's hands shook. She could barely read the words on the paper as they blurred in front of her. This is Britt I'm talking about, she thought, this is the man I love. I can't do this, Britt. I can't.
"Mom," John said, noticing his mother's distress, "Dani or I can do this instead. You don't have to."
Casey shook her head. "No, I have to. These are our people. I have to talk to them." She gazed over the expectant audience. They were unusually quiet. Fear and worry filled the large room, rolling over her in waves. I can't do this. I can't.
Casey's eyes wandered around the room. The seats rose in tiers amphitheater-style with the stage slightly higher than the lowest row of seats. Her glance fell on the front row where Mike Axford, Dunigan, Ed Lowrey, and Lee sat. His fair complexion flushed with barely restrained anger, Mike was shaking his head as he talked to the managing editor. Lee was talking to Lowrey in quiet tones, their eyes straying every once in a while to where the Reid family sat on the stage.
She continued to watch the audience, trying to feel her way. Her eyes locked on a thin man seated in the last row at the top. Occasionally his glasses would flash with reflected light as he tilted his head, perhaps aware that she was watching him. He was flanked by large men on either side. No one sat next to the large men even though that meant leaning against the walls and sitting on the stairs. We could be arrested for violating fire safety laws, ran incongruously through Casey's mind.
Casey felt a gentle touch on her hand, the one holding the statement. "Mom?" Danielle said, "Are you okay?"
"Fine," Casey said, her voice cracking in her own ears. "There's a man up there in the NeXT to last rows. There's two big man right next to him. I can hardly see him past these bright stage lights. Can you see him?"
Danielle studied the upper rows. She gasped. "That's Mr. Archer. He's not supposed to be here. This is for Sentinel staff only. I'll have security throw him out," she said, starting to rise from her chair.
Casey grasped her hand, stopping her, "No, don't. I don't want to make a scene. Besides . . . " A small smile appeared on her face. "I'm glad he's here."
Casey rose from her chair, leaving the statement on her seat. This is for you, Britt, she thought as she stepped behind the podium.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Casey began, "I am very glad to see you all here." She looked up at Archer pointedly, proudly lifting her chin. "I know you are all worried about what is going to happen. I also know that there are rumors that the Sentinel is going to be sold to pay for my husband's defense. I am here to tell you that the Sentinel will never be sold. I repeat, never. The Sentinel has always been in the Reid family, and it will always be. We are proud to be one of the few remaining papers run by a single family instead of an impersonal corporation.
"Here at the Sentinel everyone matters because we are a family, not just us Reids but everyone who works for the Sentinel. No matter what your job, no matter if you have just joined us or have been here since the Sentinel's founding, you are an important part of the Sentinel family, not just some interchangeable cog that can be disposed of whenever it is convenient or cost-effective.
"It is only through all of us working together that we can fulfill the Sentinel's true purpose. We are not here to make a profit for some giant, faceless corporation. We are here to serve our community by making it a better and safer place for everyone to live and work.
"Regardless of what the advertisers say or what the accountants say, we will always do what's right and what's best for our home and for our people, our family. We have never fired a single individual because some politician or special interest group found that person's story embarrassing or revealed a truth that they didn't want revealed. As long as there was proof and cold, hard documentation we have always defended our people with all the resources the Sentinel has, no matter the cost."
Casey noticed several people nod their heads in agreement. They were no doubt remembering how the Sentinel had gone head to head with the boss of a powerful political lobby over a reporter's story revealing his connections with several gang leaders. It had been expensive, but in the end the Sentinel had won and the political boss had gone to prison in disgrace.
"Someone, some group, has decided that my husband, Mr. Reid, needs to be destroyed. They could have decided to kill him, but instead they have chosen to try to destroy him by destroying his reputation. This is the more insidious way to go, because when you kill someone, you create a martyr and firm the resolve of those left behind. But, you see, they not only want my husband destroyed, they also want the Daily Sentinel either destroyed, or in their hands." Casey glared up at Archer. "We know though, what they are intending. We will not lie down and allow them to destroy something that we, including every single person who works for the Sentinel, have worked so hard to build.
"The Sentinel has vast resources. Not in terms in money, or power, but in our people, in you. The Sentinel's reporters are the best in the world. Our people have time after time gone after the big story and have gotten it. This time will be no different. It took a lot of planning and money to create the lie that my husband cheated with a girl and then murdered her. It's a very complex and very well executed plot, but like anything that involves more than one person, there is someone who will talk, someone who can be convinced to tell the truth. I am giving this assignment to everyone at the Sentinel. Find that person, find that string that when pulled will unravel the entire plot.
"We will not allow ourselves to become part of the vast homogenization of America. We will not become another meaningless, powerless cog in some vast, impersonal corporation. We will fight it with every tool, every resource at hand.
"I want every one of you to keep your eyes and ears open. No matter what you do, or who you are, if you hear something, a rumor, a whisper, no matter what it is, my office will be open to you. We cannot afford to ignore anything, no matter how improbable or unlikely it is. Anything could be the break we need."
Casey stepped forward, "Ladies and gentlemen, my husband, my family, the entire Sentinel is relying on you. I know you will not fail."
For a moment there was silence, each person looking at their neighbor. Casey noticed Archer motioning to his men, then rising to leave. Suddenly there was a single pair of hands clapping, then another, and another. People rose to their feet, clapping their hands in unison, a wave of sound washing over the studio until it crescendoed into whistles and cheers of approval as Casey, Frank and her family left the stage.
Casey found Archer relaxing in Britt's chair in the publisher's office. "I'll get rid of him," John growled, stepping toward the billionaire. Archer's men stepped forward, blocking him. John fist exploded into the belly of the man closest to him, then smashed a left into the jaw of the other man as he started to pull a gun.
"Enough!" Archer ordered. He shot a disgusted look at his gorillas, "Get out of here. Wait for me downstairs."
Still in Britt's seat, Archer cast a cloying smile at Casey, "Now Mrs. Reid, all that violence was totally unnecessary."
"Mr. Archer, if you do not get out of my husband's seat immediately, I will not be responsible for what happens to you," Casey said as calmly as she could.
Archer's smile broadened, "Come, Mrs. Reid, I know you wouldn't dare lay a hand on me. After all I don't think you can afford a charge of assault and battery on top of your current legal troubles."
John shrugged, "Don't worry about it, Mom, I bet I can find a lot of people willing to swear that Mr. Archer here fell down some stairs."
"Mr. Archer, I believe that's my husband's chair," Casey said very firmly.
Archer rose out of the chair, "You are being most unreasonable, Mrs. Reid. It is very foolish for you to insult a possible ally. You don't have a lot of friends left, you know."
"The friends I have left are the only ones worth keeping. Those others were never real friends to begin with," Casey said. "Now just what are you doing here?" she demanded.
"I liked your little speech," Archer replied as he faced Casey. He started to rest a hip on Britt's desk, then seeing the glare from John decided against it. "However it was all for nothing. Your dear husband is not a saint. He's all too human, just like the rest of us. You know as well as I do that he cheated on you and then murdered that girl in a jealous fit. You have only one hope . . . "
"And what hope is that?" Casey demanded sharply.
"Sell the Sentinel to me. We don't even have to make it official for a while, let's say not until you and Britt retire to some cozy island or something. You need the money, and I'm sure the stresses of trying a run a failing business is not what you need right now."
"And if I sell the Sentinel to you, what will happen to my husband? Will he then be freed?"
"Well, I'm sure that something can be arranged to show that Britt did not harm that girl. Who knows what can be done when there's adequate motivation?"
Angrily clenching his fists, John rounded on Archer, "How much motivation is there if I bust your face in?" he threatened.
"John," Casey warned. "Mr. Archer is right, there is no need for violence. However, Mr. Archer, if you have had a hand in this plot, I promise you that you will wish you had never been born."
"You are being most unreasonable."
"I am being very reasonable. You will never get the Sentinel. Even if I have to fire every single person and sell off every piece of equipment and stick of furniture, you will never have the Sentinel. The only thing you will ever wind up with is an empty shell, and I might even make sure you don't get that."
Archer brushed past John who refused to step out of the way. "I can see that I can't get any where with you. That's too bad."
He stood by the door leading to the hallway. He shot a meaningful look at the picture of Britt's father on the wall, "There's no way you can win."
"There is always a way to win," John growled as Archer closed the door behind him.
After Archer had left, John turned to his mother, "Mom, I know what Dad said, but if Lee and I could . . . "
Casey shook her head, "No, not yet. Wait, maybe it won't be necessary."
"But Mom . . . "
"Please, John, we agreed . . . "
John nodded. "Okay, I'll go with it, for now."
III
Husky Buske glanced over at Trini Mbeka and Oscar Romanov as they watched Hakenkrueze angrily pace back and forth in the small office. The worn-out linoleum floor rang with every step of his highly polished boots. The head of the Knights and the Russians had chosen to stand, preferring to lean against the grimy walls instead of sitting in the two chairs that had cushions that barely restrained the springs that threatened to pierce the thin fabric covering them.
Hakenkrueze's man also stood, but at attention, like the soldier he was. Only the Trinidad gangster sat in one of those chairs. The sleepily casual pose of his long, thin body hid the fact that he was watching Hakenkrueze like a panther waiting to spring. Husky wondered if Mbeka and Romanov thought like he did that the neo-Nazi was finally losing it.
"This is intolerable!" Hakenkrueze raged, "Once I had it all. The best weapons, the best men, an endless supply of money. I am a leader of men, and look at this place," he continued, "I am reduced to hiding in this squalid rathole. All because of the Green Hornet."
He rounded on the blonde Russian who was whipcord thin but several inches taller than him, "I've given you everything you asked for. Now you hold the eastside in your hands, but what have you given me for that?" he demanded.
Romanov sneered. "I give you one-quarter of all money we make," he growled. "If your plans have not brought Green Hornet out of hiding, that is no concern of mine. The longer he does not appear, the longer I have to consolidate my hold over the Russian gangs," he said in a thick accent.
Suddenly Hakenkrueze lashed out at the Russian, slamming him to the filthy floor. "I want results. I want the Green Hornet," he screamed bending over the man.
Romanov's hand moved to the gun he had hidden inside his jacket, only to find his hand caught in the steel grip of Hakenkrueze's metallic hand. Husky could hear the cracking of the delicate bones in the Russian's hand even from where he stood.
"God curse you for this, you Cossack," Romanov screamed, cradling his hand against his chest, "I kill you for this!"
"No, I kill you," Hakenkrueze answered, grabbing the Russian's throat. Romanov tried to peel away the inhuman hand as his eyes started to bulge. He could not even gasp as the bones of his throat and larynx were crushed.
Hakenkrueze kept his grip on the Russian's throat for several minutes after his body had gone limp.
"Sir," Karl said, very quietly.
Slowly Hakenkrueze remembered himself. He dropped Romanov's body to the ground, then wiped his metal hand against the remaining one of flesh. He glared at Husky and Mbeka. "I must have the Green Hornet, do you understand? Even if you have to bathe this entire city in blood, I want him. I want him alive. Do you understand?"
Husky shrugged as he pulled away from the wall, "Yeah, whatever you want."
Hakenkrueze stepped between him and the door. Husky looked him up and down. "If it's possible to get the Hornet, I'll get him for you," he said in a dangerously quiet voice.
Hakenkrueze refused to move.
"If you keep on killin' yer partners, Hakenkrueze, yer gonna to have to find yerself some more. And that'll mean that yer gonna be out a lot more dough with nuthin' to show for it," Husky said with a meaningful glance at the body at their feet.
Mbeka uncoiled himself from his chair, and stood behind Husky, "He is right. It is not wise to kill your partners, for then you will only have enemies," he said, his soft, elegant English accent dripping with menace.
Husky looked the Neo-Nazi up and down. "I suggest you think about that Hakenkrueze." He shoved his way past Hakenkrueze. "I'm outta here."
Mbeka shot an angry glare at Hakenkrueze and his man, "I too am out of here."
Hakenkrueze turned to his man after Husky and Mbeka had left. "I can't understand it. I have done everything I can to get the Green Hornet's attention. And nothing. No one has seen him or his blasted car. It's like he has disappeared into the very air."
"Perhaps, sir," Karl ventured, "the Green Hornet has heard that you are alive and in this city. Perhaps he is in hiding because he is afraid of you."
"No, that's impossible. The Green Hornet is not a coward. If he knew I was here, he would have come to me to do battle. No, there must be something else. Something that is stopping him from acting."
"So you're not so thickheaded after all," came a sultry voice from the doorway.
Hakenkrueze spun around while Karl drew his gun from its shoulder holster. "Who are you?" he demanded of the woman standing there.
Shannon De la Culebra leaned against the doorway with practiced sexuality. The softly flowing rust-red pant suit that draped her well-endowed figure was nearly the color of the red hair that curled about her forehead and spilled down from a copper circlet to caress the creamy flesh of her throat.
"Aren't you going to invite a lady in?" she asked with red pouting lips.
Speechless, Karl could only gape open-mouth at the woman. Hakenkrueze growled. "If there's a lady, I'll invite her in. What do you want, woman?"
Shannon swayed seductively into the room, then pressed the door closed behind her. "My, my, such manners we have. It looks like your mother forgot to teach you some manners, dear Anthony. Or do you Nazis figure that being polite is not suitable for the master race?" she asked archly.
"I'm busy, if you're here to turn a few tricks, forget it. If I need a female, I'll choose something that's better quality than you."
Shannon tsked, "Yes, indeed," she said stepping over Romanov's body, "I can see that you're busy. Too bad it involves killing people whenever you're in a snit."
"What business of this is yours?"
"I know all about the Green Hornet," she hinted as she circled the neo-Nazi.
He grabbed her arm, pulling her to him, "What do you know about the Green Hornet?"
She slyly regarded him through slitted green eyes, "I know that he is currently, shall we say, indisposed?"
Hakenkrueze tightened his grip. Shannon's smile widened. "The Green Hornet is out of your reach. It doesn't matter what you do. You can't get to him."
"Are you his friend?"
"No, silly. Quite the opposite."
"Is he dead, then?"
"No, but you're getting warmer. Who knows, if everything keeps on going the way it is, maybe he will be dead or at least in the position where he will wish he was."
"What are you hinting at?"
Shannon slowly ran her fingers along Hakenkrueze's metallic arm, "You must remember that there's the Green Hornet and then there's the Green Hornet."
Hakenkrueze disgustedly released his hold. "Get to the point. I tire of your senseless riddles."
"Tell, my brave, little, tin soldier. Who is the Green Hornet?" she asked slyly.
"I don't know. Do you?"
She nodded secretively. "Tell me, is the Green Hornet the man who wears the mask or is he the mask?"
Hakenkrueze rolled his eyes, "What the hell does that mean?"
"Anyone can wear a mask that looks like the Green Hornet's. So if a man wears that mask does that mean that he is the Green Hornet?"
"Of course not. There is only one Green Hornet."
"Are you sure?"
Hakenkrueze started to retort, of course, then he remembered. "I remember seeing who I thought was the Green Hornet, but . . . Yes, now I think of it, I think his hair was blonde, not grey. Even from where I was I am positive. He was with the chauffeur and the car, so he had to be the Green Hornet."
"But is he the Green Hornet, or . . . " Shannon tilted her head, feigning thoughtfulness. "Or, could there be two Green Hornets?"
"Impossible . . . "
"Is it? The Green Hornet is not a young man. What do you think he was doing all those years he was gone? Do you think he was in suspended animation?"
"No, of course not."
"So, perhaps even though the Green Hornet was not prowling the city, the man who is the Green Hornet was still very much around, living among us all, living a normal life just like everyone else."
A wolfish grin appeared on Hakenkrueze's face, "And so there could be two Green Hornets, the old man, the original one, and the younger one. The new Green Hornet, maybe?"
"Well, surprise, surprise," Shannon said facetiously, "the man can be taught."
Intrigued by his conclusion, Hakenkrueze let the insult slide. "So what does that mean for you and me?" he asked Shannon.
"Have you ever heard of Julius Archer?"
"Of course, everyone has. He's that billionaire who owns practically half the world."
"I wouldn't go quite that far," Shannon said, "but he is very rich, but more importantly, he is tied in with the very same people who gave you that lovely arm and is funding this project of yours. We have a plan and so far it is working beautifully. We have taken care of a very painful thorn in our side which wound up serendiptiously taking out the Green Hornet as well. The problem though, is that the Green Hornet is more than just the man who wears that mask. He is an idea. We must eliminate that idea."
"How do you intend to destroy that idea?"
"With your help we will make it appear that the Green Hornet is the most bloodthirsty monster the country has ever seen. We will commit the world's most heinous act and then when the time is right, we will show his true face to the world, destroying the Green Hornet, especially the idea behind him, forever."
"Sounds good," Hakenkrueze admitted, "but I still want to break the Green Hornet. I want him to know the pain I feel every day because of this metal monstrosity at the end of my arm," he said, making a fist of his mechanical hand.
"Actually I think it adds a certain something to your image, but . . . whatever," Shannon said with a small shrug. She moved closer to Hakenkrueze, pressing her body close to his, "Who knows, we might even manage to make you appear the savior." She kissed him, her tongue searching for his.