Chapter Seven
The Hornet and Kato took Blake's unconscious form to Hogan Park. En route the Hornet played the tape of Blake's voice on the machine in the car, listening intently to the councilman's vocal inflection. Although Blake's tone was slightly higher than the Hornet's, there was no particular accent or intonation the Hornet could pick up on. He rewound the tape onto one reel and put the confession into the pocket of Blake's green overcoat with the knife and the address book containing the circled names of the victims.
"Anything?" Kato asked from the driver's seat.
"Nothing," the Hornet replied. "I'll try to say as little as possible, and hope I don't have to sign anything."
The ropes that had secured Blake in Britt's basement were no longer around his wrists and ankles. The Hornet and Kato removed the sleeping man from the back seat of the Black Beauty and used the ropes to securely tie him to a tree near a fountain that was no longer in use in the park. The time was nearing when police would begin arriving. Because of the urgency to catch the Green Hornet, the concern was that some exceptionally trigger-happy officers might show up early to stake out a good spot from which they could shoot. No police were in the vicinity, however, and the Black Beauty made its escape without notice.
Across town, the clock was not Frank Scanlon's ally. He snapped pencil leads as he sat at his desk, offering a silent prayer that either his phone would ring or the buzzer in the frames of his glasses would go off. Why are you worried, Frank, the District Attorney chided himself. Britt won't go near Hogan Park if he'd be cutting it too close on time. Frank knew some of the capabilities of the Green Hornet's car. Of primary importance, he knew it was bulletproof. The police department would run out of bullets before any harm would come to the occupants. However, Frank knew that Britt never wanted to see a direct confrontation with the cops. A policeman might act foolishly and end up hurt.
A uniformed policeman knocked on Frank's door, bringing Frank's thoughts out of the park and any possible confrontation. "Yes?" Frank called.
The policeman opened the door. He was a sergeant, a veteran of many years with an expanding waistline that was a veteran of many stereotypical nights in the donut shop. "Are you ready to go, sir?"
Frank looked at his watch. The time was just past 10:30 p.m. Oh, Britt, please call before I leave, he heard in his voice in his mind. "Give me a few more minutes, Sergeant," Frank said.
"I can't wait to get the Green Hornet," the sergeant said.
"Sergeant," Frank said, "I understand that there is a 'pot of money' that's been collected this week to go to whoever guns down the Green Hornet."
"Yes, sir," the officer freely admitted.
"May I remind you that such an action is against the law. I want the Green Hornet tried in court, not in the park. Tell your men, Sergeant. Anyone who shoots without provocation is subject to prosecution."
The police officer scowled at Frank's recitation of legal facts. "Yes, sir, Mr. District Attorney," he snapped, the disdain for the command to follow the rules apparent in his voice. He slammed Frank's door as he left.
Frank took another look at his watch. He gave a passing thought to trying Britt's home phone number. The phone on his desk ringing disrupted that thought. "Scanlon," Frank answered almost before he had the phone to his ear.
"The Green Hornet is tied to a tree near the old fountain at Hogan Park," the Hornet advised from the phone in the Black Beauty. "You'll find a taped confession and plenty of evidence in his pockets."
"Thanks." Frank hung the phone up without acknowledging that he knew who he was talking to. He bolted out the door. "Come on, Sergeant," he said to the impatient policeman sitting in Frank's secretary's otherwise unoccupied office.
Frank and the sergeant arrived at Hogan Park first. Three other police cars, sirens blaring and lights flashing, followed in close proximity. Frank took the microphone on the police radio and broadcast, "This is the District Attorney. Do not – repeat, do not – shoot on sight."
The car with Frank inside and another police car reached the fountain simultaneously. The two policemen in the second car jumped out in unison, squatting behind their open car doors with their service revolvers drawn. The headlights from the car Frank was in showed a figure sitting at the base of a tree, the head and neck slumped over. Frank led the three policemen to the form. "The Green Hornet!" the youngest of the policemen said. The sergeant had a flashlight with him and put light on the man. The law enforcement officials could see the ropes securing the man to the tree, wrapped numerous times across the chest and under the armpits.
"We got him!" the sergeant said enthusiastically. He pumped both fists into the air in jubilation. "We've finally caught the Green Hornet!"
A third car arrived. Two policemen and Mike Axford stepped out. The police joined the crowd at the tree first. As Mike caught up to the officers he heard the excited murmuring and a number of men saying almost reverently, "Look, the Green Hornet!"
The Hornet Gas's effect on Blake ended. Blake slowly regained consciousness. He raised his head and discovered that he was still unable to see because of the putty blocking his vision through the mask. "Where am I?" he mumbled, realizing he was now in a seated position instead of lying on a floor as he had been when he fell into the involuntary sleep.
Frank made the announcement. "Green Hornet, you are under arrest." He smiled at the policemen around him. "I was beginning to think I'd never live to say that."
Mike charged forward, notebook in hand, to take notes on the day he had yearned to see since the first appearance of the Green Hornet in town. He expected to see a corpse, not a man tied helplessly to a tree. "How'd this happen?" he asked Frank.
"We got an anonymous tip," Frank replied. "I must tell you, Mr. Axford, this is the happiest day of my professional career."
"Mine, too!" Mike said. "Finally I can write the headline I've dreamed of – 'Green Hornet Apprehended'!"
Frank smiled. He could scarcely blame the reporter for his jubilation. Frank, however, could not help but feel at twinge of pity for Mike. Oh, Mike, Frank thought, do you have a surprise in store for you.
After leaving the park, Kato drove the Hornet to Paula Davis's house. Blake's car was still outside. The Hornet left the security of the Black Beauty and got behind the wheel of Blake's automobile. Blake had left the key in the ignition, ostensibly to make a quick escape after terrorizing the nurse. The Hornet drove toward Harold Morrison's house, Kato tailing him in the Black Beauty.
The Hornet had a microphone transmitter tucked under the band of his watch. In that location it would be out of sight yet able to relay what was being said inside the car back to the Black Beauty. Kato could hear any problems that arose and move in. Plenty stood to go wrong, too. If Morrison asked the man he thought to be Mitchell Blake to unmask, for instance; or, as the Hornet had lamented, someone asking him to write something. The Hornet had attempted to write something with his left hand without any success.
Morrison kept his eyes peeled on the road beyond his gated drive. He sat at attention any time the headlights from an approaching car appeared. After the automobiles went past, he slouched against the back of the seat. Morrison was the sole occupant of the back seat of his blue luxury sedan. Two men were in the front seat. The man in the ubiquitous brown suit who had answered the door for the Hornet and Kato was behind the steering wheel. "Where is he?" Morrison said impatiently. He turned his left wrist in frustration to look at his watch, but the darkness prohibited him from seeing the time.
"You think something happened?" the man behind the wheel asked. "He pushed his luck one time too often?"
As he spoke, Mitchell Blake's car came to a stop at the gate. The two cars were facing each other on opposite sides of the drive with the security gate between them. Morrison motioned to the guard minding the controls to open the gate. The car passed through and pulled to a stop just past the trunk of Morrison's car. The engine died, the headlights went dark, and the door opened seemingly simultaneously. Morrison threw open the left rear car and scooted to the right. "You're late," Morrison complained to the new occupant.
The Hornet had devised a plan to cover the discrepancy between his and Blake's voices. The worst it could do was fail, allowing Keith Patrick to escape. "Sorry," he said in a raspy voice. After closing the car door he put his hand to his throat as if trying to soothe pain. "Nurse Davis hit me in the throat."
"We need another car," Morrison said. The Hornet held the keys up. Morrison tapped the man in the front passenger seat on the shoulder. In response he got out and took the keys from the Hornet. He went to Blake's car and started it, speeding away for a moment before returning after reversing directions in the semi-circle in front of the house.
"Drive," Morrison instructed the driver. He turned to the Hornet and asked, "Are you okay?"
"I will be. That's why I'm late. I had to give some extra…" Left hand, Britt! ran through the Hornet's mind. In response to the command to himself, the Hornet gestured with his left hand as if he were stabbing with a knife. "…Payback," he finished, twisting an imaginary dagger.
"I hope you had fun," Morrison said. "The real Green Hornet should be getting pumped full of lead about now." He laughed then leaned forward. "Turn the radio on," he instructed the man in the front seat. "I want to hear the news."
The driver turned the radio on in time to hear the end of the news bulletin. The Hornet recognized the voice of the DSTV news anchor as it came through the speaker in the dash. "Repeating this news bulletin, Daily Sentinel reporter Mike Axford is on the scene and confirms that the Green Hornet was apprehended tonight in Hogan Park. More details as they become available. This has been a special bulletin from the newsroom of the Daily Sentinel. We return you now to your regular programming."
Morrison clasped his hands together in celebration. "Congratulations, Mitch," he said, turning to shake the hand of the man next to him, "our plan worked like a charm. As soon as we pick Keith Patrick up we'll have a million dollars to split between us."
The Hornet maintained the ruse of an injured throat. "That will make the pain go away much quicker," he said.
Only one person in the car knew the car was being monitored. The microphone the Hornet had secured between his wrist and watchband broadcast every word back to the Black Beauty. Additionally, the scanner hovered overhead in the event that Kato lost visual contact with the car. He kept his distance behind Morrison's vehicle, ready to move in immediately should something go wrong. When Kato heard one of the occupants of the car say, "Shouldn't you get out of those clothes, Councilman Blake?" he prepared to speed up.
"I didn't bring a change of clothes," the Hornet replied, "because of the delay at Nurse Davis's house."
Morrison reached over the seat and joyously slapped the shoulder of the driver. "Don't worry about it," he said. "If anyone's at the airfield who might recognize me or Mr. Patrick…well, it might not look so good if a city councilman was spotted with us."
In the two separate cars, the Hornet and Kato smiled simultaneously, grateful that Morrison had unwittingly provided an excuse for the clothes.
Word of the Green Hornet's capture soared through various media outlets like a Lear jet. Most of the media gathered at the police station, awaiting the arrival of the notorious criminal who had eluded the police for so long. The one exception, the man with the scoop, was Mike Axford. Mike was at Frank Scanlon's office with the police, as joyous as a child on Christmas morning who had awakened to find everything he had asked for under the tree.
Approximately five miles from Frank's office, Keith Patrick's plane touched down at a private airfield that served cargo companies and the wealthy. Patrick stepped from his plane behind his entourage of four bodyguards. He was a middle-aged man, dressed in an expensive suit with an equally expensive cigar in his mouth. His expanded waistline showed the side effects of the good life he was accustomed to living.
The two cars were parked near a hangar, waiting for the plane to stop and the passengers to disembark. Morrison left the car, leaving the Hornet with the driver in the front seat. The man who had driven Blake's car left his car after parking, joining his cohort at Morrison's car to await orders. The Hornet watched from his position in the back seat as Morrison went to the stairs at the plane and warmly shook Patrick's hand. Patrick carried a briefcase in his left hand as he walked toward the car. Kato was on the airport property as well. Thanks to the scanner he knew where the Hornet was, and he maneuvered the Black Beauty toward the hangar.
"Come on," Morrison said to Patrick, walking to the car. "I want you to hear the news about the Green Hornet."
"The Green Hornet's in the back seat of your car," Patrick observed.
"Nah, that's my friend at City Hall, Councilman Blake," Morrison explained. "He went on a little crime spree, and…"
"This is a bulletin from the Daily Sentinel newsroom," the voice on the radio said, interrupting the soft jazz music that was playing.
Morrison slapped the driver on the arm. "Turn that up so Mr. Patrick can hear for himself."
The volume was increased. "We have an update on the capture of the Green Hornet, which occurred earlier this evening at Hogan Park."
"You did it!" Patrick said to Morrison with a slap and a smile. "I can't believe it!"
"According to Sentinel reporter Mike Axford, the Green Hornet has been arraigned at the office of the District Attorney," the newscaster continued. "Although the District Attorney will have a news conference tomorrow to officially 'unmask' this notorious criminal, the reporter on the scene at the D.A.'s office when the Green Hornet was unmasked reports that he is none other than city councilman Mitchell Blake."
Mike, you blabbermouth, the Hornet thought. The entourage was gathered around the driver's door to hear the news through the window that had been rolled down. The Hornet moved across the back seat and jumped out of the right rear seat. He lifted his wrist to his mouth and said into the transmitter, "Now, Kato!" In the back of his mind he knew he Kato was listening and needed no notification that things had turned bad. Kato was indeed listening, and had the Black Beauty in gear before the Hornet made the call for his partner to move in.
The announcement took a moment to register with the crowd. By the time they came to the collective realization that the man in the car was the real Green Hornet, the Hornet was on the pavement, ready for the impending attack. In total, six henchmen of the two kingpins stood around the car after the driver got out. The Hornet backed away from the car just slightly in order to give himself some room to work.
Morrison and Patrick's foot soldiers split up, three going around the hood and the other three walking the length of the car to the trunk. When the men arrived at the trunk the Black Beauty roared to a screeching stop near the plane. Kato emerged and walked toward the battlefield. He went for the closer group near the back end of Morrison's car. Seeing which half Kato was allocating for himself, the Hornet charged toward the men in front.
One of the men in Kato's group smiled at the sight of the slight, not overly tall man in a mask coming at them. At least eight inches taller than Kato, he decided to meet the man who was obviously looking for a fight. The man, being one of Patrick's men from St. Louis, had no idea what he was walking into. Kato welcomed the man's advance, greeting him with a kick to the chest. The two other men charged as their comrade doubled over in pain. Kato had a similar introduction for each man. One received a hand to the chest while the other got a foot to the face.
The first man tried again. His swinging fist was blocked before Kato gave him three punches. As he landed the third punch another man came at him. The attacking man, thinking Kato was solely interested in the man in front of him, walked right into Kato's outstretched right foot. Each blow landed was accompanied with a shout. The three men had no way to overcome Kato's skill and power, even though they each made another attempt. By the time the last man hit the ground they had each felt the sole of Kato's shoe on their face and his open hands on their stomachs and necks.
The Hornet faced three angry men attacking simultaneously. The man who had been behind the wheel came first with a doubled fist. The Hornet sidestepped the swing and punched the man in the stomach. He grabbed the man's arm and used him as a blocker, throwing him into the path of an oncoming attacker. The two men tumbled over each other onto the asphalt. The third man exchanged a couple of fists before the Hornet showed that, although not versed in martial arts, he too knew how to apply his foot to an oncoming attacker's stomach. The Hornet hit the doubled over man on the neck, sending him to the ground.
One of the two men recovered and tackled the Hornet. The Hornet landed on his back on the ground. Morrison, seeing the Hornet down, jumped behind the wheel of the car and started toward the Hornet. The Hornet in one swift motion removed the Hornet Sting from his inside pocket, engaged the mechanism, and fired at the grille of the car. The first thing to suffer the effects of the Hornet Sting was the radiator, followed almost immediately by the latch that kept the hood secured. Steam from the radiator billowed up as the hood flew open. With Morrison's vision blocked the Hornet was able to roll out of the way to safety. Morrison brought the car to a stop, unable to see his target and unwilling to accidentally take out one of his own men in the process.
The third man who had fought the Hornet stood and pulled a gun out. The Hornet saw the gun and took it out with another blast from the Hornet Sting. As the Hornet got to his feet his peripheral vision caught the man he had doubled over with the kick to the stomach coming at him again. He used the Hornet Sting again, this time the way a policeman would use his baton to stop a charging criminal. The man ran into the fat end of the Hornet Sting and stopped as the pain to his stomach registered. The Hornet stood him up and punched him in the face, causing the man to fall backwards. The Hornet returned the Hornet Sting to its normal length and jammed it back into his inside pocket as he looked around for anyone else who wanted to fight. None of the three men he had engaged were able to get off the ground to try.
Morrison was still behind the wheel of the disabled car. Patrick, clutching his briefcase, had been a bystander. Seeing that his side was losing he made a break for Blake's car. Morrison climbed out of the car to join Patrick in the dash to the remaining mode of transportation they had at their disposal. Kato went for the Black Beauty at the same time. Morrison and Patrick reached the car before Kato arrived at the Black Beauty, with Morrison getting behind the wheel; however, they were unable to escape before Kato drove the Black Beauty into their path.
The Hornet approached, the Hornet Gun in his right hand. Morrison and Patrick watched helplessly. When the Hornet neared the car Morrison pleaded through the open window, "Listen, Hornet, can't we talk?"
"We could talk," the Hornet replied, "but we're not going to." The Hornet put the Hornet Gun to the window and pulled the trigger. Morrison expected bullets in retaliation for his attempt to set the Hornet up for arrest or possible death at the hands of the police. Instead, the green gas filled the car, rendering both men unconscious. The Hornet tucked his weapon away and waited for the gas to dissipate before walking to the passenger's door. He opened the door and pried the briefcase from Patrick's arms. Inside he found piles of money and plates used to press counterfeit money. He smiled, closed the briefcase, and put it back into Patrick's grip.
As he walked toward the Black Beauty the Hornet looked over his shoulder at the men on the tarmac. The six men they had engaged in hand-to-hand combat were all motionless. He opened the left rear door. He reached inside for the telephone, picked up the receiver, and hit a button.
The fact that his private line was ringing told Frank who was on the other end of the phone. Most of the policemen in his office were chatting with Mike, giving quotes about the relief of having the Green Hornet off the streets at long last. The pudgy sergeant lamented, off the record, that the criminal had not engaged in resistance or some other action that would have necessitated shooting him down in self-defense.
"Scanlon," Frank answered the phone.
"I hear you've had a good night," the Hornet said, sitting on the seat with his feet outside of the car.
"I have indeed," Frank said.
"Want it to get better? Come to the private cargo airfield. You'll find Harold Morrison, Keith Patrick, their crew, and the counterfeit plates."
"And it's not even my birthday," Frank said. "I'll be right over."