Chapter Seven
Sid Scott sat at the desk in his den. The figures in his ubiquitous notebook were the focus of his attention. Tip sheets from the racetrack and other thoroughbred racing prognosticators lay on the desk in a seemingly haphazardly manner, but Scott knew where every magazine was when he needed to consult a figure. Even though he was home, he was attired in a business suit. He mumbled figures to himself as he wrote on paper, calculated, and entered results in his notebook.
Scott heard a little commotion outside of the oak double doors that sealed off his den from the rest of the house. He continued to work on figures, obviously irritated by the noise. The distraction was short, but enough to cause Scott's impatience to bubble over. He slapped his pen on top of a stack of racing forms and pushed an intercom button. "Will you please hold it down out there?" he snarled. He turned the intercom off without waiting for a reply. He mumbled something under his breath about incompetence before he picked his pen back up.
"Sorry about the noise," came a voice from behind Scott, near the window. Scott turned around with a start and saw the Green Hornet.
Scott jumped to his feet and pressed the intercom button so hard his finger nearly went through the device. "Get in here now!" he bellowed.
The door to the den opened and Kato entered. "You want something?" he asked. When the startled look on his face asked a silent question, Kato replied, "Your 'associates' are incapacitated at the moment."
Scott tried to gather himself. "What do you want?" he asked, turning his attention from Kato to the Hornet.
"I'm here to discuss a business proposition," the Hornet said, moving away from the window he had entered through and toward Scott. In response Scott backpedaled until the small of his back pressed against the side of his desk. "Let's talk horse racing."
"Shouldn't you go to the track if you want to discuss horse racing?" Scott sneered, attempting to regain his composure.
The Hornet picked up a handful of racing forms and scattered them across the desk. "I'd say I'm in the right place." The Hornet gestured toward the leather seat Scott had just vacated. "Have a seat."
"No, thanks."
The Hornet moved closer. Scott stared at the hornet between the eyes on the mask. "I'll be brief. How much money do you stand to make tomorrow on the Sentinel Stakes?"
"I don't have a clue what you are talking about," Scott said, still avoiding eye contact.
The Hornet grabbed Scott's lapels and pushed him into the chair. "If you didn't 'have a clue,' I wouldn't be wasting my time here," the Hornet snapped. "Let me give you some 'clues,' since you allegedly don't have one. Your men tried to kidnap Marsha Blackwell again this evening. I was in her neighborhood to ask her some questions about what she told the press, because what she told the press didn't match what she told me. To make a short story even shorter, I have Marsha Blackwell now."
"What?"
The Hornet picked up Scott's telephone receiver. "You doubt me? Call Marsha Blackwell's apartment. We took the liberty of looking the number up for you before we came."
"It's 555-1835," Kato recited.
Scott refused to dial the number, so the Hornet did the honors. After the phone rang, he put the receiver to Scott's ear. "Police, Sergeant Brown," Scott heard over the phone. He grabbed the phone from the Hornet's hand and slammed it down.
"Any questions?" the Hornet said.
"What does this have to do with me?"
The Hornet threw some of the racing forms off Scott's desk in a rage. "How much do you stand to make on the Sentinel Stakes tomorrow?" he repeated, slightly slower and more intensely than previously.
"It's just a small bet," Scott said. "I'm looking at about $500."
The Hornet moved from the side of the desk to behind it. He grabbed the arms of the chair and spun Scott to where he had no option but to look at him. "Don't play games with me, Scott. You haven't been involved in a racket for that small a sum of money since you were in grade school." The Hornet smiled, which made Scott more nervous. "You see, Scott, I not only have Marsha Blackwell, I have Dusty as well. Dusty was most cooperative with me. He told me everything, including that you paid him $5000 to throw races this spring." The Hornet released the chair and stood erect. "You're not going to pay out ten times the amount of money you're going to take in."
The Hornet gestured for Kato. The Hornet's accomplice walked to a coffee table in front of a plush sofa to Scott's left. He said nothing, only emanating a shout as he hit the table with his right hand. The table snapped in half as if it were made of toothpicks.
After watching Kato's demonstration, the Hornet returned his glare to Scott. "Last time, Scott. How much?"
Scott was as impressed by Kato's show of force as he was frightened. "Okay," he said. "The rough estimate is for about three-quarters of a million dollars just for the Sentinel Stakes. Maybe a million, depending on the amount of money bet. As things stand right now, it's no less than $750,000."
The Hornet nodded. "A tidy sum, and enough to share. Here's my offer, Scott: you give me half."
"Half?" Scott snorted. "You must be crazy." Kato took an attack stance in response to Scott's comment, causing him to flinch. "Sorry," he said quickly. "But tell me, why should I give you half just because you ask for it?"
"Because," the Hornet said, "I have the option of dropping Dusty Blackwell off at the racetrack tomorrow, or dropping him off at the Daily Sentinel and letting him tell his story to them. He told me he met with Britt Reid earlier today, but didn't tell him anything then. He said he got cold feet. I can make sure his feet aren't so cold tomorrow." The Hornet walked toward the door, Kato following. When he reached the door, he turned and took a final look at Scott. "It's your option, Scott," he said. "You can give me fifty percent, or I take Dusty Blackwell to the newspaper, he tells them and the police, you go to prison, and I get it all." As soon as he uttered the last word he turned and marched out the door. Kato closed the door behind him, leaving Scott alone and shaken in his den.
After the Green Hornet departed, Scott's fear turned to anger. He became more incensed each time his peripheral vision caught sight of the coffee table that Kato had chopped in half. Additionally, he had the problem of no longer having the leverage of holding Marsha Blackwell hostage to keep Dusty silent. His figures for a huge take at the racetrack now seemed as elusive as finding the money in a garbage can. Worse, two of his henchmen were apparently in police custody, captured somehow at Marsha Blackwell's apartment.
The three men who were still available to Scott stumbled into the den, having recovered from their encounter with Kato. Gene Haley, already wearing one bandage because of a rock, now sported a bruise on the opposite side of his face. Scott in his anger wanted to lambaste the three men for letting one man overpower them; however, given the condition of his coffee table, he could scarcely criticize his men with any sincerity. As much humbled by their defeat at the hands of the Green Hornet's chauffer as they were leery of their boss's rage, the three men stood silently halfway between the door and the desk. Scott paced back and forth, which did nothing to ease the tension among his cohorts.
"I need an alternate plan," Scott mused as he walked. He stopped in mid pace, his foot off the ground as if propped on an invisible step. "I have an idea." He reached for his telephone.
Outside, the duo reached the Black Beauty and pulled away from Scott's home. As they allowed the night to swallow them the Hornet picked up the car phone and dialed Frank Scanlon's home number. "Hello?" he heard in the receiver.
"Sorry for calling so late, Frank."
"It's okay, Britt," Frank said. "I hadn't turned in yet. I was hoping you'd call. What's up?"
"I need to know if you have a map of the layout of Motor City Downs."
"I can get one."
"Can you bring it over first thing tomorrow?"
"Sure. What's up?"
"We just paid a visit to Sid Scott. Casey overheard one of his men say he plans to kill Dusty Blackwell tomorrow to keep him from talking. I told him he's already talked, and I'll let him give the information to the paper. Hopefully that'll take the heat off Dusty."
"Yes, but it puts the heat on you, Britt."
"At least I know it's coming, Frank, and I can be ready for it."
Despite Britt's admonition to Casey to "not wait up," she was awake when he returned to his townhouse. She was curled up on the sofa in Britt's living room with a book from his den. Casey had enjoyed the luxury of her boss's home while he was gone, treating herself to a dinner of veal piccata that she cooked, followed by a long bath. She then settled down to read wrapped in the terrycloth bathrobe, enjoying a cup of Earl Grey tea as she read.
"Casey!" Britt said with surprise when he entered from shedding his green clothing. He had not bothered, due to the late hour, to don a tie or jacket, so he was wearing his white shirt with the collar open. "I thought you'd be in bed by now."
"I couldn't sleep," Casey playfully complained. "Your phone wouldn't stop ringing." She smiled as she laid the book aside. "Mr. Scanlon called. He's bringing the map you asked for. He should be here any time. Mike called, too. Twice." Britt rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "The first time he wanted to make sure the Green Hornet didn't hurt me."
"And that he really wasn't 'gentlemanly'?" Britt smiled.
Casey nodded. "The second time, he called from the office. He said he received an anonymous phone call saying that Dusty Blackwell had been kidnapped by the Green Hornet."
Britt's smile vanished. He darted to the phone and quickly dialed Mike Axford's desk at the Sentinel. He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Mike's voice on the line. "Mike?"
"Evenin', Boss," Mike said enthusiastically.
"Miss Case said you received an anonymous tip that the Green Hornet had kidnapped Dusty Blackwell?"
"Yes," Mike said. "I'm writing the story right now. If I hurry I can have it ready for the late edition."
"Kill it, Mike," Britt ordered.
"What?" Mike said in disgust.
"The phone call was a hoax, Mike," Britt explained. "I just saw Dusty Blackwell, and he most definitely has not been kidnapped."
Mike calmed down upon hearing Britt's explanation, although he was still upset that he could not engage in his favorite pastime of attacking the Green Hornet with the printed word. "Why would someone call and say that?" he wondered aloud.
"I think we'll have our answer to that tomorrow," Britt said. "Make sure you bring a big notepad to the track. I have a feeling you're gonna need it."
"Right, Boss," Mike said. "Good night."
Britt hung up the phone. As he did, he heard the alarm in the den, notifying him that Frank was in the crude elevator that served as a secret entrance to Britt's home. Frank used it to avoid arousing suspicion. Although both men were public figures and good friends, Frank being seen too many times coming and going at Britt's house might cause people to inquire about the reason, especially if the Sentinel appeared to be getting "scoops" on law enforcement's progress on certain crimes.
Kato was in the den when the alarm went off. He moved the three books that allowed the fireplace to open and the one-man cage to descend. Kato had built the device, and included a safety feature: if the books were not moved within a set amount of time the passage behind the fireplace filled with Hornet Gas. The books had to be moved in the proper order, too, or whoever was inside the cage would be unconscious from the non-lethal gas.
The fireplace façade rose as the cage with Frank inside descended from the street above. When the steel cage reached the bottom a step automatically slid out, allowing Frank to step down instead of having to jump. Now that he was in his late 40s, Frank appreciated the thoughtful addition of that feature.
"Good evening, Kato," Frank said as he stepped out of the cage. When Britt and Casey arrived in the room, he repeated a greeting to them. Like Britt, Frank eschewed the formal business attire since he had driven to Britt's home from his own house instead of from the office. "I have your map."
"You didn't have to come over tonight, Frank," Britt said, taking the map from Frank's hand.
"I don't know what you've got planned," Frank said, "but I want you to have as much time as possible to plan it."
"Thanks. Sid Scott's apparently doing a little planning of his own. Someone called Mike Axford and gave him a tip that the Green Hornet had kidnapped Dusty Blackwell. Given the timing, I'm betting it was Scott."
"Why would he do that?" Frank said.
"If a story comes out in the Sentinel tomorrow that the Green Hornet has kidnapped Dusty Blackwell, and if they plan on killing Dusty as Casey heard them say, that would make the Green Hornet the prime suspect in Dusty's murder."
"And it's no secret how Mike Axford feels about the Green Hornet," Kato said.
"So he would be the obvious person to call," Frank said, "because he would write the article first and check for authenticity of the caller's claims later."
"Precisely," Britt said. "I called him and told him to kill the article."
"Didn't he question that?"
"Not after I told him I'd just spoken with Dusty Blackwell," Britt said.
Britt unfolded the map of Motor City Downs and laid it on the desk. The four people who knew the truth about the Green Hornet looked at the map. Britt pointed to a section of the grandstands. "This is the area reserved for the Sentinel staff for tomorrow's race," Britt said. The section contained prime seats, near the track at ground level and aligned with the finish line. "Casey, I'm going to give you a two-way radio. If you see anything suspicious, call me." Casey nodded as Kato removed a two-way radio cleverly disguised as a makeup compact kit from a drawer in Britt's desk and handed it to her.
"What do you want me to do?" Frank asked.
Britt pulled the watch out of his pocket and held it up. "Just be standing by. We have to play this by ear."
"You're going to be in a tight situation, aren't you?" Frank said. "I mean, Britt Reid has to present a trophy."
Britt shrugged. "I also have to prevent a murder, if I can."