Chapter Six

"Britt? What's wrong?"

"How do you want the list, Frank? Alphabetically or chronologically?"

The grogginess in Frank Scanlon begging him to return to bed was evident in his voice over the phone. "Why were you at the hospital? I just got a call from the police. There was a report that the Green Hornet was at St. Luke's Hospital about an hour ago."

"It was Casey," the Hornet explained. "She got sick, very sick. It may have been appendicitis. Do me a favor. Call the hospital and see how she is."

"Will do," Frank promised. "What are you doing?"

"Breaking up a robbery at a diner."

"What?"

The Hornet shook his head. "Long story, Frank, longer than this night has been. We're just driving around. I can't go home because reporters are camped out on the sidewalk, and Mike told the police about the warehouse. We're just trying to stay out of sight until the trial resumes."

"You can come by my place," Frank offered. "I have a privacy fence around the back yard. You can hide your car there."

"Thanks, Frank. We'll be over shortly." The Hornet hung the phone up. "Scanlon's," he said to Kato.

The Black Beauty snaked through the street toward Frank Scanlon's home. Frank's house sat in a sparsely populated subdivision of identical single-story structures. Several back yards on the street, including Frank's, were enclosed by six-foot high chain link fences with panels woven through the links to keep prying eyes out. A few houses had garages added, but most cars sat in driveways.

When the Black Beauty reached Frank's drive Kato killed the headlights. Frank had been busy since the phone call, having dressed, moved his car from the drive, and opened the double gates to allow the Black Beauty immediate access to the seclusion of the back yard. Kato slid the car into the back yard. Frank, watching for their arrival from the kitchen window, ran out the back door and shut the gates. By the time Frank reached his back door the Hornet and Kato were at his side. The three men hurried into the house in silence. Frank secured the door behind them. The rear entrance brought the men into the eat-in kitchen. A percolator's sound and smell greeted Frank's guests.

"This is a switch," Britt grinned as he laid his green mask on the dining table, "me sneaking into YOUR house."

"Should I make you go up to the roof and come down the chimney?" Frank said with a pat to Britt's shoulder.

"Not unless you let Kato install an elevator first," Britt replied.

"He may find that hard to do, even as brilliant as he is." Frank turned to face Kato, who had also removed his mask. "I don't have a fireplace."

The moment of levity was as welcome as the coffee's aroma. Frank filled three cups of coffee from the percolator. He sat the cups on the table in front of chairs and motioned for Britt and Kato to sit. Britt sank into a chair and devoured most of the coffee in a single gulp. "I have something for you," he said after Frank refilled the cup Britt had drained. He removed the note from his inside pocket. "I found this at Reeves' house. If you can trace it back to Tillman you can put a conspiracy charge on him."

Frank unfolded the paper and read the two lines. "What is this?" he asked.

"Casey said the first line is the same message, just typed with the fingers one key off the normal position on a typewriter," Britt replied, setting the gloves and fedora next to his coffee cup.

Frank folded the paper back. "That shouldn't be too difficult," he said. "Oh, speaking of Miss Case, I called St. Luke's just before you arrived. Miss Case is out of surgery. You were right – it was her appendix."

"Remind me to give her a big raise," Britt said with an amazed shake of his head. "With all the pain she was in, she still had the presence of mind to warn us that Mike was phoning the police."

"They said she'll be fine," Frank assured.

Britt sighed deeply. "That's the best news I've had all night."

"I don't think Axford thought it was good news," Frank said. "One of the policemen I talked to said they went to get his statement but couldn't find him."

Britt's brow wrinkled. "That's not like Mike," he observed, "especially when it comes to blaming things on the Green Hornet."

Frank put his cup on the table and picked up the phone hanging on the wall above a counter top. He read the number of the hospital he had culled from the phone book before dialing. His gaze alternated between Britt and Kato while he waited for an answer. "Yes, ma'am," he said when a hospital operator came on the line, "this is the District Attorney. I need you to page Sentinel reporter Mike Axford, please."

While Frank awaited a reply he covered the phone's mouthpiece with his right hand. "With all that's happened tonight," he said to his guests, "this might not make the headlines. Police found the body of a man a couple of hours ago, shot. I.D. is Randy Lloyd, one of Tillman's known associates."

"Reeves shot him," Britt said. "That was accidental, believe it or not. Reeves intended to shoot the Green Hornet."

"Ah." Frank's attention returned to the phone. "I see. If you would, page him every half hour or so, and have him contact Sergeant Philips at police headquarters or the District Attorney. Thank you." Frank's sigh drowned out the sound of the phone coming to rest in the cradle. "Still no Mike," he announced.

The whistle of an approaching train sounded outside the house. Mike had heard no such noise during his first encounter with Reeves. The room, with hits antiquated paint and second-hand furnishings, also indicated a dramatic change in locale from Reeves' house.

The ropes stung Mike's wrists, but not as much as the chiding his thoughts gave his conscience. With Porter's gun aimed at Mike's chest the reporter realized how relatively gracious a host the Green Hornet had been. In his zeal to see the Hornet apprehended, Mike instead exchanged one captor for another, more sinister one. The snarl on the face of the pacing Michael Reeves reiterated that the swap of prisons was decidedly not to Mike's benefit.

"What am I going to do with you, Axford?" Reeves mused. "You're all that's left standing between Cornhusker and freedom."

For once Mike managed to control his red-headed hot temper that he normally confirmed as accurate rather than disproved as stereotypic. "I guess you'll hold me until Cornhusker goes free," Mike suggested, "then I tell the police about the Green Hornet killing Britt Reid and holding me hostage to make sure that Cornhusker was released for lack of evidence."

Porter pondered Mike's recommendation. "Not bad," he commented to Reeves.

"But why would the Green Hornet care about Cornhusker," Reeves said, "especially after we double-crossed him?"

"Who knows that we did?" Porter asked with a wave of the gun. "And what's the Hornet gonna do – call the cops and report that he's been robbed?"

Reeves ceased pacing. His scowl vanished, replaced by a smile. "Yeah!" he said. After a few moments of silence Reeves' smile grew wider. "And I know just how to sell it, too!" He grabbed a phone book and hurriedly turned to the S's. Reeves dialed the number his finger underlined in the phone book. He smiled while waiting for the party on the other end to answer.

During a lull in the conversation that flowed with the coffee, Frank's gaze fixed on the gold fob watch and green mask that lay on the table next to Britt's coffee cup. The District Attorney recalled how difficult his job had been prior to the advent of the Green Hornet, and the vast improvement in the conviction rates once evidence showed up "anonymously" at his office. The Green Hornet went where no search warrant could. While the city saw the Hornet as a menace, Frank considered him the best friend the law could have.

Additionally, Frank appreciated the fact that it was Britt Reid behind the mask. Another man might have become a vigilante and thereby more hindrance than aide to the law. Britt told Frank when he introduced the criminal alter ego that frontier justice was emphatically not part of the equation. As Britt told Casey, he sought revenge, but not by his own hand. Britt was one of the few men that Frank knew who was level headed enough to walk the fine line that the Green Hornet required.

"Have you thought about a 'not guilty' verdict, Frank?" Britt asked quietly, fingering the watch before returning it to his coat pocket.

"Oh, yes," Frank admitted, "and that scares me. You know, I've tried getting records on him from his days in Nebraska. The authorities won't talk about him, and he left there over three years ago!"

"Why did he leave Nebraska?" Kato asked.

"He was running from the income tax charges," Frank said. He chuckled before he continued, "I suppose he didn't think we have feds here."

"What we do have here is close access to Canada," Britt said. "Perhaps he thought he could make it across the river before he got caught."

"Where did Judge Branson figure into that?" Kato asked.

"Tillman was in prison for the income tax evasion charges," Frank explained. "It was the only thing the federal boys could get to stick. He was sentenced to five years, but released after three months. He paid Branson ten thousand dollars to forge a federal release order."

"The problem is," Britt said, "there's no tangible proof. The forged release order mysteriously disappeared after Tillman left prison."

"So why did Tillman kill Branson?"

"Branson apparently had an attack of conscience," Frank said. "He told Tillman he was going to come clean on forging the release order. The story is that Tillman asked to meet him for lunch, ostensibly for the purpose of paying Branson more money to just retire from the bench and keep quiet."

"But instead of money," Britt concluded, "Tillman gave him a bullet. Like Reeves said earlier, why pay for what you can get for free?"

Frank's phone rang. "That must be Mike," Britt said. "Do you have another phone? I want to hear what he says."

Frank pointed to the arched doorway that led to the rest of the house from the kitchen. "On the wall, just outside the kitchen," he said. Frank went to the kitchen phone while Britt took the hallway phone. The two men could see each other, and both picked up the receivers simultaneously. "Scanlon," Frank answered with his office formality.

"Hello, Mr. D.A.!" Reeves said. "This is the Green Hornet."

Britt and Frank exchanged surprised glances across the kitchen. "The Green Hornet?" Frank repeated. The mention of the name caused Kato's head to jerk in surprise in the direction of the attorney.

"Yep," Reeves said. "Here's the story in a nutshell, Scanlon. I killed Britt Reid last night, and I have your last material witness, Axford, here with me."

"What?" Frank said. "Why, you…"

"Yeah, yeah," Reeves interrupted. He paused for a moment to allow the blare of a train whistle to subside. "You have no case now, and even if you did no jury's gonna run the risk of convicting my new ally, Cornhusker Tillman, after seeing how I treat the witnesses. When he's free, Scanlon, we're coming for you!"

Reeves slammed the receiver down. He gave Mike a sinister smile. "There, Axford," he said. "The Green Hornet just confessed. You can back that story up, or…" Reeves' angry smile vanished. "You'll be on those tracks outside when the next freight train comes by!"

Frank and Britt met at the table. "Now what?" Frank sighed. "If you testify they'll kill Axford. I know you, Britt. You won't put his life in danger."

Britt replayed the call in his mind. "That was Michael Reeves," he said. "I'm sure that was his voice. But…" Britt stopped and snapped his fingers. "The train!"

"What train?"

"Didn't you hear a train whistle in the background?"

"How could you miss it?"

"Call transportation." Britt checked his wristwatch for the time. "Find out what trains were at or near any crossings in the city between 5:02 and 5:05."

"Alright," Frank said slowly, "but why?"

"By law, trains have to sound their whistles at railroad crossings," Britt explained. "If we can pinpoint what crossings had trains near them, we might be able to find Mike before the trial resumes."

Frank picked up the receiver. "It's a long shot," he mumbled. "They could've been calling from a phone booth."

Britt nodded. "It is, but it's all we've got. You're this close to nailing Tillman." Britt held his fingers up as if pinching a grain of salt between them. "I don't want to see him get away."