Chapter Five
Porter and Delmore lounged in Porter's living room. Sleep prospects were buried in the shallow grave with their dead cohort. The enticement of easy money glamorized the criminal life, which had lured the two men into its snare. Loot no longer appeared "easy". An associate was dead, and the plan to double-cross the Green Hornet had failed. The Hornet was alive, on the loose, and undoubtedly plotting revenge against Reeves at best, or Tillman and all known associates at worst.
A single lamp provided scant illumination to the living room. In comparison to the furnishings at Reeves' house, Porter's home reiterated the fact that he was merely a foot soldier in Tillman's criminal army. Porter's pride still stung from Reeves' tantrum over the desk earlier in the evening. Reeves seemed more concerned about the blood stains on the carpet than the accidental death of a coworker when he ordered Porter and Delmore to dispose of the corpse. Porter failed to comprehend how Reeves could show more compassion toward a piece of furniture than the employee Reeves had accidentally shot. New desks were much easier to come by than new muscle. Reeves' desk was a status symbol to remind everyone who worked in the organization who had access to Tillman and who did not.
"What are you mumbling about?" Delmore asked. He gestured toward the police radio that sat on the end table next to the sofa he lay on. "You're drowning out the cop calls."
Porter realized he was vocalizing his thoughts of frustration. "Sorry," he said, "just thinking out loud."
"Go ahead and think out loud," Delmore said. He rearranged his body on the sofa. "It's probably no different than what I'm thinkin'."
"I'm not too happy about Reeves double-crossing the Green Hornet," Porter admitted.
"At least Reeves did us a favor by having us dump Lloyd's body," Delmore said.
"Yeah," Porter said, turning to a semi-reclining position in the upholstered chair he occupied by stretching his legs over one of the arms. "This ain't the Ritz," he admitted, gesturing around the living room, "but I'd rather be anywhere than within ten miles of Reeves when the Green Hornet comes to collect his fee. You know his reputation."
"You're right," Delmore said, "and he's not gonna let Tillman off, either." The man managed a chuckle that sounded more like a cough. "Wouldn't it be funny if this worked and he did beat that rap? He walks out of police custody onto the streets, where the Green Hornet's waiting for him. If Tillman's smart, he'll stay where he is."
The name "Green Hornet" emanating from the police radio silenced the two men and brought their bodies to erect sitting positions simultaneously. "Repeating," the man's voice on the radio said, "all cars in the vicinity of St. Luke's Hospital, be on the lookout for the Green Hornet. Mike Axford reported that the Green Hornet was at the emergency room entrance ten minutes ago. All cars, check the vicinity for the Green Hornet."
The two men eyed each other in response to the desk sergeant's call over the radio. "What do you suppose that's all about?" Porter said.
Delmore pulled himself to his feet. "I don't know," he said, fishing his car keys out of his pocket, "but let's get over there and see Axford before the cops do. If he blabs, Tillman's gonna have company in his cell – us."
Mike paced back and forth near the nurses' station as if walking between his polarized thoughts. Somewhere behind the closed double doors that protected the emergency room from the rest of the hospital Casey lay in preparation for surgery. At the opposite end of the corridor was the entrance to the hospital. Mike knew the Green Hornet was gone. He had mustered the courage to peek outside after completing the call to the police, only to discover the Black Beauty had vanished into the city night. Worse, the delay in the police's arrival meant the Hornet had ample time to return to the warehouse and spirit Britt away. That meant a lengthy, stern admonishment awaited Mike once he and his boss reunited in court. Britt's tongue lashings could inflict as much pain as the school principal's paddle, a fact Mike knew all too well.
But how could the Hornet have known? Mike asked himself. Maybe it was just a coincidence that he left right after I called the cops. Maybe a cop happened by and saw him. Mike's face brightened on that hope. After all, Mike heard his voice say in his mind, the Green Hornet can't hear through walls. He couldn't possibly know that I called the cops.
"Mr. Axford?" an orderly dressed in green operating room scrubs called to Mike. The color of the uniform startled Mike. He had seen enough green courtesy of his former captor to make him jumpy.
Mike directed his steps to the man who called his name. "Yes?"
"You brought Miss Case in?" Mike nodded. "I wanted to let you know that all the test results point to acute appendicitis, and we're prepping her for surgery."
"She'll be alright?" Mike asked anxiously.
The orderly nodded. "She's lucky. You got her here just in time. We'll let you know as soon as she's in recovery."
Mike sighed as if expelling his negative thoughts with his breath. The orderly returned to the emergency room and Mike's attention turned to his growling stomach. His eyes scanned the walls for a sign pointing to a snack bar. A sign indicating the way to vending machines caused a frown from the reporter. He started in the direction the arrow pointed, resigned to the fact that he would have to suffer with coffee from a machine until the hospital snack bar opened.
Outside the hospital, Delmore stopped the car near the emergency entrance. "If I see the Green Hornet," he told Porter, "I'm takin' off and you're on your own."
Porter lightly slapped Delmore's shoulder. "Do you see his car here?" he asked. "The cops may have already been here. Don't do anything suspicious. For all anyone knows, you're bringing your sick mother to the emergency room."
"Okay, but hurry!"
Porter jumped out of the car and hurried inside the hospital via the same entrance Mike had used to bring Casey in. Porter made his way to the nurse's station, his head in constant motion as he searched for any sign of police or a green hat. The waiting room was vacant.
"May I help you?" the nurse asked. Her voice slightly startled the nervous man.
"Uh, yes," Porter said. "We got a call from Mike Axford about the Green Hornet, and I need to speak to him."
"I think he went to get some coffee," the nurse said.
"When he comes back, would you send him outside so I can talk to him?"
"Yes, sir," the nurse said.
"Thanks," Porter called as he turned for the exit. He walked as quickly as he could without breaking into a run. Once clear of the hospital doors he forsook the slower gait to reach the safety of the car as rapidly as possible. "They'll send him out," Porter said as he shut the door behind him.
"I'd give anything for that cup of coffee Frank threw away last night," the Hornet mused from the back seat of the Black Beauty.
Kato looked in the rear view mirror. "Do you want to find an all-night diner?"
"I'd love to," the Hornet admitted with a slight chuckle, "but how would I get a cup of coffee?"
"You have shoes and a shirt," Kato smiled. "Would they refuse you service?"
"Okay," the Hornet said, "but make sure it's out of the way. Turn the police scanner on so we can keep track of what's off limits."
Kato turned the police radio on. The airwaves were unusually busy for the middle of the night. Most of the conversation centered on the investigation at the warehouse and at St. Luke's. A couple of policemen reported their position at Knight Park, still investigating Britt's firebombed convertible. The Black Beauty sped north and west of the major hotspots.
Tim Wilson sat at the counter of Jim's Diner, his face as long as the black counter on which his elbows rested. The young man's eyes were red, more the result of tears than the lack of sleep. The waitress behind the counter saw the sad countenance of the diner's sole customer. "What's wrong, honey?" the fortyish woman asked as she refilled Tim's coffee cup.
Tim shook his head. "Of all the things they teach you in journalism class," he said, his voice cracking beneath the weight of emotion, "they never tell you about things like how to handle your own boss's murder."
"What?" the waitress said in disbelief.
Tim managed to lift his head. "Sorry, ma'am," he said, his voice barely audible. "It hasn't been a good night."
"Nobody move!" a man's voice called from the entrance. The fry cook, an older, scrawny man dressed in white, turned upon hearing the command. Tim instinctively spun on his stool to face the man speaking. A young man with a revolver stood just inside the diner's entrance. He had dark hair and need of a shave. "Nobody try anything heroic," he ordered. Tim, the waitress, and the cook raised their hands to a surrender position without being instructed.
Outside of the diner, the Black Beauty neared. "No police have reported to be near here," Kato said.
As the car passed the diner to turn into the parking lot out of view of the windows in front the Hornet noticed the unusual position of the occupants inside. "Hurry, Kato," he said. "It looks like a robbery." Kato gunned the car into the parking lot, killing the green headlights so they would not reflect on anything and announce their arrival. The Hornet had his door open before the car stopped. Kato was three steps behind him.
As they rounded the corner they spied the man, his back to the windows and door, collecting Tim's wallet. The Hornet leaned close to Kato's ear. "That's Tim Wilson," he said. "Let's be extremely careful."
"No problem," Kato said. He stepped in front of the Hornet and moved toward the entrance.
The waitress, scared because of the gun pointed in her direction, nervously fiddled with the cash register. Her trembling fingers kept sliding off the "no sale" key, preventing the cash register drawer from opening. With each failed attempt she grew more terrified that the robber's patience would wear thin and he would resort to using the weapon in his right hand.
Kato charged into the diner with a loud shout to announce his presence. His path went directly to the robber. In the moment it took the robber to react to the noise Kato was upon him. The first blow Kato applied was a powerful kick to the man's hand, which knocked the gun to the floor. As the man reacted to the pain in his hand, Kato inflicted more blows. Kato's fourth chop was across the robber's neck, sending him to the diner floor where he remained motionless.
The Hornet lingered at the door, relying on his partner's speed and ability to subdue the lone robber. Once the man was defeated the Hornet walked through the diner. He retrieved the gun from the floor while Kato removed Tim's wallet from the floor beneath the robber's fallen form. The two men met at the counter by the cash register. Kato handed the wallet to the Hornet, who opened it and read the name on the driver's license. He looked at each of the three diner occupants staring at him. The Hornet's presence paralyzed the two employees in a way the robber's gun could not. "Tim Wilson?" he called.
The timid disposition Tim displayed in Britt's office was noticeably absent in the diner. "That's me," he said, starting off the counter stool.
The fry cook reached across the counter and grabbed Tim's arm, landing the reporter back on the seat. "Don't you know who that is, kid?" he said with a feigned whispered tone as his gaze shifted between the reporter and the masked men.
Tim shook his arm free from the cook's grasp. "He's the Green Hornet," Tim identified in a normal tone of voice as he stood again. Tim walked past three empty stools to the Hornet. "I'm Tim Wilson, sir," he acknowledged, "from the Daily Sentinel."
"Ah, the Sentinel," the Hornet smirked. He extended Tim's wallet. Tim, initially surprised that the Hornet did not keep the money in the billfold, accepted the wallet from the Hornet's gloved hand. "I must be good for your circulation, as many editorials as Reid publishes about me." The Hornet looked at the terrified waitress. "Large coffee, please, to go."
"You don't have to worry about Mr. Reid's editorials any more," Tim said softly, his hazel eyes welling tears. "It appears he was killed tonight."
The waitress's trembling hand sat a Styrofoam cup on the counter in front of the Hornet. He took a large gulp of coffee, savoring the aroma and taste. He replaced the cup on the counter, half the liquid gone. "Refill, please." The waitress obliged while the Hornet removed the bullets from the revolver. He laid the gun on the counter and put the ammunition in an ashtray. He then placed two quarters on the counter in front of the coffee.
"Coffee's only a dime," the waitress said before she thought as the Hornet turned from the counter with his purchase.
"You don't accept tips?" the Hornet asked.
The waitress looked at Kato. "Anything for you?"
Kato shook his head as the man on the floor stirred slightly. Kato provided a kick to his face that stilled him again.
"One thing," the Hornet said with a gesture of his head toward the robber on the floor. "Let us have a couple of minutes' head start before you call the cops."
"Yes, sir," the waitress promised.
The Hornet reached the door, but stopped with his hand on the push bar. "Wilson," he called over his shoulder. Tim walked toward the Hornet, Kato tailing him. Sandwiched between the two masked men, Tim had no option but to walk outside with them. Once outside the Hornet turned to face the young reporter, while Kato left for the car.
"I don't understand," Tim said. "Why'd you break up that robbery?"
"I didn't call you out here for an interview, Wilson," the Hornet said. "But, if you must know, I don't like nickel-and-dime operators. It shows no imagination. If he can't do any better than to knock over a diner, he deserves to be caught. Now, as to why I called you out here, you're not to tell anyone this just yet. Britt Reid is alive."
Tim's entire body reacted visibly to the statement. "He is? How do you know that?"
"I'll leave it for Reid to fill in the details," the Hornet replied. "All you need to know is that he's alive and is being protected from another assassination attempt."
The reporter's instinct in Tim took control. "Who's protecting him?"
"I am."
"You?"
The Black Beauty stopped next to the two men. "Talk to Reid about it in the morning," the Hornet said as he opened the door. "Make sure you keep it quiet until you hear from him." The car sped away as the Hornet closed the door.
Tim returned to his seat at the diner counter in a relieved frame of mind. The reporter eyed the unconscious robber on the floor, the two quarters and unloaded gun on the counter, and the waitress on the phone to the police. He found himself wondering where the monster that Mike Axford had described as the Green Hornet was.