Chapter Four

The man standing at the entrance to the Daily Sentinel city room looked out of place, as much for his size as the lost look on his boyish face. A reporter looked up from his notes and saw Dusty Blackwell glancing around the large room. "May I help you?" he asked, rising from his desk.

"I hope so," Dusty replied. "I'd like to see Britt Reid, please."

The reporter gestured toward the door at the back of the city room. "His office is right in there," he said. "His secretary will be able to help you."

"Thank you." Dusty made his way through the city room, his eyes looking for anyone who might have noticed him. He reached the door to Britt's office and opened it, then knocked.

The noise made Casey turn her head from the paperwork on her desk to the door. "May I help you?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am," Dusty said, "I'd like to know if I could see Britt Reid."

"I'll see if he can see you. May I have your name, please?"

"Dusty Blackwell."

Casey knew she would not have to ask if Britt wanted to see Dusty. "Just a moment, please." She rose from behind her desk and walked to the door that separated her office from Britt's. The curtains on the window between the two offices were open, and Casey could see Britt at his desk, pouring over information Frank Scanlon had confidentially provided. Casey knocked on the door.

"Yes?" she heard Britt call from inside.

She opened the door and walked into the office to Britt's desk instead of announcing the visitor from the door. "Mr. Reid, Dusty Blackwell is here to see you."

"Show him in, please," Britt said, standing in preparation to receive his guest.

Casey returned to the door and opened it. She gestured toward the inside of Britt's office as she called, "Mr. Blackwell? Mr. Reid will see you."

He walked by Casey, nodding a gesture of gratitude as he passed her. Casey lingered for a moment, noting the difference in size between the jockey and herself. She smiled, realizing that one of the requirements of being a jockey is to be small. Still, she wondered what it must do to a man's ego to be shorter in stature than most women. She took her thoughts back to her desk, leaving Dusty and Britt to the privacy of the publisher's office.

Britt shook Dusty's hand with a smile. "Mr. Blackwell," he said with a smile, "it's quite an honor to meet you."

Dusty smiled modestly. "I can say the same about you, Mr. Reid," he said. He sat in the chair Britt gestured to, while Britt sank onto the couch situated across from the chair Dusty rested in. "From what I understand, you were quite instrumental in rescuing my sister."

Britt chuckled. "I'd hardly call anything I did 'instrumental.' I came home from work and your sister was on my doorstep. The District Attorney is a friend of mine, so I called him. He phoned the police, and they took her to the hospital." Britt offered a shrug. "Nothing heroic about that."

Dusty looked over his right shoulder toward the door to ensure it was closed. He then leaned forward and dropped his voice to a whisper. "May I ask you what she said?"

Taking his cue from Dusty, Britt also leaned forward and lowered his voice. "About what?"

"Anything. Everything."

Britt leaned back. "Everything is in the article I wrote," he said in a normal volume of voice. "Why do you ask?" Dusty wanted desperately to say something. Britt could see that fact in the young man's body language. He decided to probe deeper. "Can you give me a hint as to what you're looking for? I mean, we did talk about the weather, but that wasn't germane to the kidnapping."

"Did she mention a man by the name of Sid Scott?"

Britt took care to not change his facial expression upon hearing the name. "No," he said slowly after appearing to give the name some thought. "As I recall, the only person she mentioned was the Green Hornet. She said she didn't know the abductors." Dusty leaned back in silence. "Why are you asking, Mr. Blackwell? Do you think this Sid Scott is behind what happened to your sister?"

"Mr. Reid, can I ask a favor? If I were to tell you something, could you keep it a secret? Not publish it?"

"I'm good at keeping secrets," Britt smiled at his private joke.

Dusty opened his mouth as if to begin speaking, but stopped himself before uttering a sound. He closed his mouth and shook his head. "I'll tell you tomorrow," he said. "Can you meet me tomorrow evening?"

Britt rose and went to his desk. He checked his schedule. "Let's see...tomorrow I will be at the race track."

"You will?"

"Yes. Since the Daily Sentinel is the sponsor of the Sentinel Stakes, I will present the trophy to the winning jockey. Would you like to meet me in my private suite after the race tomorrow?"

"That would be perfect," Dusty said enthusiastically.

Britt extended his hand as Dusty stood. "Fine. Then I'll see you tomorrow. Best of luck in the race. Perhaps I'll be giving you the trophy."

Casey watched Dusty leave Britt's office, then hers. After the door to her office closed she rose from her desk and went into her boss's office. A wide grin on Britt's face greeted her. "I take it you got some information from him."

"You bet." Britt removed a fob watch from his pocket and pushed a button. An inch-long golden antenna resembling a large needle popped out of the watch. "I may be gone for awhile." Casey nodded in understanding.

In Frank Scanlon's office, a low buzz began emanating from the frame of Frank's glasses. The noise, inaudible in the room, was annoying close to his ear. He jerked the glasses off his face and rubbed the frame to silence the alarm. He stood, grabbed his suit jacket that was draped over an unoccupied chair in front of his desk, and headed out the door. "Hold my calls," he told his secretary as he darted past her.

"Sid Scott?"

Frank sat in the den at Britt Reid's townhouse. The signal in his glasses had called him to a meeting with Britt. He sipped a cup of coffee served by Kato, standing by in his white jacket.

"That's the name Dusty used," Britt replied.

Frank gritted his teeth. "It seems he's been around since I got out of law school," he sighed. "I know it feels like I've wanted to bring him in that long."

"You've never been able to tie him to anything?" Kato asked.

"He's been implicated in a number of rackets," Frank said, "and his fair share of murders. But, he keeps an airtight lid on his operations." Frank chuckled at a memory. "You know what he told me once?" he said with a tone that combined humor and disgust. "He told me, point blank, I needed a search warrant, and no search warrant would turn up anything on him."

"You might need a search warrant, Frank," Britt said, "but the Green Hornet doesn't."

Britt's comment struck at the core of the necessity for the existence of the Green Hornet. Frank's office and the police had to abide by the law. While that protected the innocent, and indeed was necessary for order in a civilized society, doing things "by the book" too many times allowed for criminals to escape punishment because of technicalities. On more than one occasion Frank as D.A. and Britt as newsman had watched guilty men walk free because a judge ruled that the police had failed to dot all the I's and cross all the T's, throwing out the voluminous evidence that would have otherwise convicted. Britt decided that someone had to do something, so he created an alter ego who was ostensibly a criminal. As an outlaw, the Green Hornet never concerned himself over such legalities as locked doors, search warrants, and "the right to remain silent." The bad part of the set-up was that the Green Hornet was, by reputation, more nefarious than a number of the criminals he helped bring to justice. Thanks in no small part to one of Britt's own employees – Mike Axford – the dramatic rise in arrest and convictions of criminals in Detroit went unheralded mainly because the Green Hornet was "public enemy #1" and still free.

"I was hoping you'd say that," Frank said. "Do you have a plan?"

"We'll come up with something by tonight."

"I'm curious, Britt," Frank said. "Did Dusty give you any indication of what he wants to tell you?'

"Nothing," Britt replied with a tone of frustration. "He obviously wants to talk, but something's got him scared."

"Our visit last night might've made him anxious to talk," Kato said.

"But he got cold feet at the last minute when he came to see me this morning," Britt mused.

Frank shook his head. "It's hard to believe he'd be afraid of someone more than the Green Hornet." In jest Frank pointed an accusing finger at Britt and said, "See? That 'gentlemanly' comment in the paper has ruined your reputation."

Both Britt and Kato showed their appreciation of the moment of levity by responding with smiles. "No, Frank," Britt said, "it's not that. We don't know anything. It was obvious that we were fishing for information last night, and he wasn't biting. But Kato's right, our visit did make him willing to talk. Let's just hope he will talk."

"Any messages?" Britt asked as he closed the door that separated Casey's office from the city room.

Casey was surprised to see Britt back in the office. Usually when he left to meet with Frank he was gone for the rest of the day, because Britt meeting with Frank usually meant the Green Hornet would make an appearance shortly thereafter. "Yes," she replied. She picked up a stack of paper nearly half an inch thick and pretended to read from each sheet. "Mike Axford called, and you have a message from Mike Axford. A Mr. Mike Axford wants to see you, and Mike..."

"Okay," Britt stopped Casey with a laugh. "What's the Capeless Crusader want?"

Casey followed Britt into his office. "I told you not to give him any ideas," she playfully chided.

"What?" Britt asked, fearing the answer.

"He's contacted Marsha Blackwell," Casey replied. "He wants 'the truth' about her encounter with the Green Hornet. To quote Mike..." Casey lowered her tone and produced a fair impersonation of Mike's voice. "'Gentlemanly,' ha!"

"Scanlon's already chewed me out about that," Britt said with a playful look in his eye. "Don't you start, too."

Casey looked inquisitively at her boss for an explanation. Britt could see Mike opening the door to Casey's office. "I'll explain later," he promised, his eyes fixed on the reporter in the outer office. Casey turned to follow Britt's stare and spotted Mike. "What if you tell him I'm not in?" Britt chuckled.

Mike rapped on Britt's door, then opened it without waiting for a reply. "I don't think he'd believe me," Casey whispered.

"Got a minute, Boss?" Mike asked.

"I'm all yours, Mike."

Casey smiled at Britt and turned to leave. "Wait, Casey," Mike said. Casey froze in her tracks. "This involves you, too." Mike focused his attention on the publisher. "I have an opportunity to talk to Marsha Blackwell," he announced.

"About what?" Britt said.

"A detailed account of being in the clutches of the Green Hornet," Mike replied proudly. "It's gonna be a great article!"

"So you think Mr. Reid left something out of his account?" Casey said with a smile toward Britt, which quickly vanished when Mike turned to face her.

"No, no!" Mike said almost apologetically. "I mean..." Mike fumbled for an explanation that would not implicate him in disbelieving his employer's article. "I mean, that article focused on the entire kidnapping. I'm just looking for the Green Hornet angle."

Britt shook his head with a laugh. "You're going to do your best to get her to retract that 'gentlemanly' statement, aren't you?"

"No!" Mike said, but his eyes betrayed his words.

Britt nodded in acceptance of Mike's scheme. "Sure, Mike, but how does Miss Case play into this?"

"Ah, well, Marsha's still a little shook up from that kidnapping a couple of days ago. Can you blame her? Anyway, she asked if I would bring a co-worker along to verify things. I thought she'd feel safest if I brought a girl along."

"Smart move," Britt admitted, "but that's Miss Case's call. I can't make her go with you."

Casey smiled and pushed her shoulder length dark blond hair back. "It's alright, Mr. Reid," she said. "I'd be happy to help Mike get his big scoop."