Chapter Six
"Hello?" Dusty Blackwell said into his phone. He was unaccustomed to phone calls after 8:00 p.m., so the ringing of the phone took him aback.
"Hi, Blackwell," Sid Scott said cheerfully.
"Hello, Mr. Scott," Dusty sighed.
"You don't sound too happy to hear from me," Scott chided. "I'm just calling to give you some friendly advice. My boys are 'babysitting' with your sister, so to speak. Don't even think about messing with my race card tomorrow. Do you understand?"
Dusty nodded ruefully, finally putting vocalization behind the gesture. "I'll do whatever you want," he managed to say. "Just don't hurt Marsha."
The phone went dead and Dusty sank into his recliner, burying his face in his hands. He only had a moment alone with his thoughts, however, as the phone again rang. He did not want to talk to anyone, but he found himself answering the phone. He, however, said nothing in greeting.
"Blackwell?"
The voice was not Scott's. "Yes?" Dusty said carefully.
"I want you outside of your house in five minutes. We need to talk."
"Who is this?"
"We met last night."
"The Green Hornet?"
"Yes."
"Listen," Dusty whispered as if the walls of his home would report anything he said, "please leave me alone. My sister's been kidnapped."
"Had been kidnapped," the Hornet corrected. "I have her with me."
"What?" Dusty shouted, as confused as overjoyed by the news. "But I just got a call..."
"Be outside of your house in five minutes," the Hornet interrupted. "Then you can decide who you're going to believe – Sid Scott, or me."
Dusty hung up the phone and grabbed his keys. He went out of his house, almost in his haste forgetting to lock the door behind him. He ran to the curb and waited, his head turning side to side as if he were watching a tennis match, looking for the Green Hornet.
The Black Beauty came to a stop in front of Dusty. The Hornet had the back left door open before the car stopped rolling. He said nothing but motioned for Dusty. The jockey hastily ran around the back of the car to where the Hornet stood. "Get in," the Hornet instructed.
The first thing Dusty saw when he climbed into the back of the car was his sister. "Marsha!" He quickly slid across the seat to where Marsha sat and hugged her.
The Hornet got in behind him. "Drive," he instructed Kato. Kato moved the car away from the curb. He turned off the street and moved in the direction of the city limits, where there would be less opportunity for the police to interrupt them.
Casey listened silently from the front passenger seat with a sense of excitement. She savored every moment riding along in the Black Beauty. Altruism, she thought. That word should have Britt Reid's photo next to it in the dictionary. Casey saw how reporters argued over bylines and "who broke the story first" nearly every day in the city room to stoke their egos. Just a few feet from her, however, sat her employer, a wealthy man who inherited a newspaper then expanded his media empire by acquiring a television station. He had all of the trappings of money and success. Yet, while most millionaires did deeds to get buildings or streets named after them, Britt took on crime, and did so in a manner that not only ensured he got no credit for his actions, but also made him a most vilified man.
She kept her eyes out of the back seat, alternating her gaze between the road and Kato. Where would Britt be without him, she thought. A gifted Korean man, sworn by custom to Britt Reid's service after Britt saved his life, he put his college education to use to concoct the weaponry that helped make the Green Hornet a most feared figure. Kato himself used his prowess in karate to subdue those who thought him too small or slight to be a formidable opponent. While the façade that Kato presented to guests at Britt Reid's home was that of a servant, Casey knew better. They were partners.
The Hornet allowed Dusty and Marsha a few moments for a reunion. He watched the night roll by the window as the Black Beauty cut through the darkness. When the siblings' frightened silence filled the car, he turned his attention inside the car. "Okay, Blackwell," he said. "This is twice. The third time might not be a charm, for you or your sister."
Dusty could scarcely put volume behind his voice. "How can I thank you?" he said.
"You can start by telling me what Sid Scott's up to," the Hornet replied.
Dusty shook his head timidly. "No," he mumbled. "Do you know what he'll do to me?"
The Hornet snorted a laugh of contempt. "Do you think I care what he threatens to do to you?"
"It's not your neck," Dusty protested with sudden courage.
The Hornet turned on his right hip to give Dusty a better, more intimidating look at his masked face. "I'll guarantee your neck, and your sister's. As I said, what he threatens and what he can actually do are two separate things. He obviously can't keep me from getting Marsha away from him." The Hornet leaned a little closer. "Now, talk. Sid Scott's got you throwing races, doesn't he?"
Dusty nodded silently with an embarrassed look on his face that was mostly concealed by the darkness. "Dusty, no!" Marsha said with a slump of her shoulders. Dusty ignored the Hornet for a brief moment to give his sister another confirming nod of his head. "Why?" She slapped his shoulder. "You are the best jockey going. Everyone says so. How could you throw that away?"
"Listen, Marsha, I'm sorry I got involved. I tried to get out, but Scott said no. I think that's probably when he picked you up the first time, after I asked him to let me out."
"What's the deal?" the Hornet said.
"He gave me $5000 at the start of the spring meet," Dusty replied. "Once a week one of his 'associates' calls me and tells me which races they want me to lose."
"And now you want out?" the Hornet asked.
"Absolutely. I can't sleep at night, and I can't look myself in the mirror in the morning."
"Okay, Blackwell, I'm going to give you that opportunity."
Dusty emitted a sigh with a hopeful look at the Hornet. "You will? How?"
"I imagine Scott's told you to throw the Sentinel Stakes tomorrow, right?" Dusty nodded. "I'm going to keep you and your sister as my 'guests' tonight to make sure Scott doesn't get to you. Tomorrow I'll escort you to the racetrack. You win that race, then you tell the police everything about Sid Scott. Got it?" Dusty again nodded. "If you want out," the Hornet continued, "the only way you're going to get out is to come clean. This is your chance. It may be the only chance you get. I suggest you take it."
"You sound like you want Sid Scott caught," Dusty said, almost chuckling.
"I do want him caught," the Hornet said, causing a look of surprise on Dusty's face. "In this line of work, the fewer horses in the race, so to speak, the better."
"I understand," Dusty said, the anxiety creeping back into his voice, "but there's one problem. I can't... how do I put this politely? I can't afford to pay you for your 'services.' And, I want all the way out, I don't want to go from the frying pan to the fire." He realized what he had said and quickly added, "Um, no offense."
The faintest hint of a smile crossed the Hornet's lips. "None taken. In fact, I consider that a compliment. As for my services, I've done some research. Betting odds on you aren't as low as they used to be because of all the races you've lost this year. A bet on you to win tomorrow will net a good return. Between that and your testimony helping get rid of some competition, I'll consider that your 'payment.' Fair enough?"
"You bet!" Dusty said enthusiastically.
Marsha leaned forward to look at the Hornet. "Mr. Hornet, may I ask you something?" she said. "I don't get it. Why are you helping my brother get out of this racket?"
If you only knew how much I hate criminals, the Hornet thought to himself. "Your brother made a mistake, or a bad snap judgment, whichever you choose to call it. He doesn't want to spend the rest of his life as a criminal. If he wants to go straight, who am I to stand in his way? As I said, the fewer horses in the race, the better."
Dusty extended his hand toward the Hornet. He felt the black leather glove on the Hornet's right hand slide into his. "Thank you, Mr. Hornet," Dusty said, "from the bottom of my heart."
The phone on Brit's desk rang. Kato, still in his black uniform except for the mask, gloves, and cap, picked the receiver up. "Mr. Reid's residence," he said. He listened for a moment, then extended the phone toward Britt who, like Kato, had only paused from the evening long enough to remove his hat, gloves, and mask. "It's Mike Axford," Kato announced.
Britt sighed. They had stopped just long enough to drop the Blackwells, unconscious courtesy of Hornet Gas, off, securing them in a locked storeroom in the basement. The siblings were placed on cots and supplied with blankets and pillows. Marsha received an extra pillow for her injured foot. A quick meal, hardly five-star fare but enough to sustain the two guests, was prepared and left on a folding card table in the storeroom. Their next task was to deal with Sid Scott, not chat with Mike.
Britt took the phone from Kato. "Yes, Mike?"
"Boss," he said, "I feel terrible."
"Take two aspirin," Britt quipped.
"No," Mike said. "It's Casey. I was going to Marsha Blackwell's, but I stopped to cover a fire. By the time I got there, bang! Marsha and Casey were gone and the police were there."
"Mike," Britt said.
"I'll tell you, if something happened to Casey..."
"Mike..."
"I'll never forgive myself, and..."
"Mike!"
"What?"
"Casey's fine. She's here."
"What?" Mike stammered. "Great! What happened?"
"She said two men broke in Marsha's apartment. The Green Hornet showed up and rescued them. He asked her some questions then dropped her off about a block from here."
"I should've known the Green Hornet was behind it! 'Rescued'? Is she alright?"
"Fine, Mike, although I have some bad news for you." Britt flashed a smile at his secretary, who sat in a chair near the fireplace. "She said the Green Hornet was the perfect gentleman."
"Oh, no!" Mike nearly sobbed.
"Don't worry about it, Mike. You and Casey can get together tomorrow at the race track, and she'll tell you all about it."
"Okay, Boss. Boy, do I owe Casey."
"Yes, you do," Britt agreed. "Good night, Mike."
Britt hung up the phone and looked at Casey. "Poor Mike," Casey said with a devilish smile but a tone that indicated she truly felt sorry for her co-worker. "More good press for the Green Hornet. Mike might have to find another line of work if this keeps up."
Britt acknowledged her joke then turned serious. "Listen, Casey, I want you to stay here tonight."
"Sure, but why?"
"I don't know if Scott knows you were there, which might make you a target. Let's play it safe."
Kato left the room without any cue from Britt. He returned quickly, carrying a white terrycloth bathrobe. "Here, Miss Case," he said, extending the robe to her.
"Thanks, Kato," she said.
Britt put the green fedora on his head then picked up the green mask. "Don't wait up," he said playfully, "we'll be late. Make yourself at home."
Casey watched Britt slide the mask onto his face, a mixture of emotions permeating her. She admired him for his crusade against crime. Britt was a handsome man, tall, dark hair and blue eyes, with a pleasant disposition, so she also felt a strong degree of infatuation for her boss. "Be careful," she said.