Author's Note:
Not too much to say. This is the fourth part of my Recruitment storyline, and believe it or not, things are building up to the conclusion. There will be two more parts, and then afterwards, we'll be partaking in a whole new story.
If you are so inclined, let me know how you feel about the story via private message or review. Also, don't be wary of letting me know about potential errors, and more so, if you have any questions about the story or characters, please ask.
I hope you enjoy this chapter.
I do not own DC, nor any of their characters.
If you live in Chicago, and you're an old-timer, you've likely heard the name Lee Travis, most well-known for his talk radio show, covering current events and city politics. While the opinions of Mr. Travis don't fit everyone's taste, if you tune in weeknights at 8:00 pm, you cannot deny his devotion to uncovering the truth, be it a crooked mayor or a union president on the Mafia's payroll. His commentary has been a staple of Chicago's civic-minded community for almost 35 years, but again, if you're an old-timer, and you still listen to the radio, you don't need to be told this – you know already.
What you may not know is that Lee Travis is more than what meets the eye. Much more.
I can do this, the young man thought, glancing nervously over at his much older host, Mr. Lee Travis. He caught the latter's eye, and while Travis nodded his head at him with a small smile, Edward Thane could barely muster up a grin.
"You okay to go in 45," a man called out to the both of them from the doorway of the recording studio, brushing his long gray hair out of his eyes.
"Of course, Wade" Travis replied, his voice firm. "This next segment will be longer, so if you need to, push back the ads until I give the signal." With that, the man exited and Travis looked over at the young, tense man, sweating very visibly. "I know I've said this before," he began, "but I appreciate you being here, Mr. Thane. I know this next segment will be difficult, but just be honest, say what you told to me, and it'll be okay. You'll be fine," he finished smoothly.
Edward nodded and took a deep breath, then reached for his mug of now lukewarm coffee. His host was looking over the handwritten notes in front of him one last time prior to going live. A long sigh escaped the young man. Yeah, I'll be okay, he considered. I know that. God, I haven't been this scared in a long time, though.
That much, Mr. Lee Travis could tell easily, though only having known Edward Thane an hour tops. It was just that obvious.
"And we're back to the Lee Travis Report. To those at home listening, this is Lee Travis. Some people have said I fight for the truth, whether or not you wanted to know it. I guess that's one way to describe me," Lee Travis began, smiling as he spoke into the microphone in front of him. "To recap, joining me tonight is Mr. Edward Thane. He is a previous employee of Alderman Richard Duggle of the 23rd Ward. We spoke to him briefly minutes ago, but for those of you tuning in, please welcome Mr. Thane."
Travis nodded toward Thane, and nervously, he stammered into the microphone, "Than-thank you for having me, Mr. Travis."
"Lee's fine, son," he said with a smile, which oddly calmed Edward down a considerable amount. "Of course you, the ever-constant listener, know that last week, yours truly presented accusations that Duggle was receiving payoffs from large corporations, ensuring a blind eye should anything less than laudable occur from said corporations. We identified some of the corporations in question – SolarXME, Yellowtrail Construction and Keegan Chemicals, among others – while even more still remain unknown. Mr. Thane has agreed to join us tonight to discuss the full extent of Mr. Duggle's alleged involvement. Is this correct thus far, Mr. Thane?"
"It is, yes," Edward replied, wiping off his forehead with a napkin, happy these proceedings weren't televised, "though I should make clear that not only large companies got involved. Some smaller ones certainly showed interest in paying off Mr. D-" he stopped himself, quickly carrying on, "my former employer also."
"Noted," Travis replied, nodding at Edward. "In what capacity did you work for Mr. Duggle?"
"My official title was 'private assistant,'" Thane answered, his voice growing ever-more confident the longer he spoke, staring not at the microphones now, but Lee's twinkling eyes, "which I basically was for the most part. I performed the necessary odd jobs for him."
"And what, pray tell, did these odd jobs entail?"
"Meeting people he couldn't meet himself," Thane began, counting off his fingers, "collecting packages for him, inputting data on his computer, arranging conferences, that kind of stuff."
"And how did you attain that position with Mr. Duggle," Travis asked.
"I got it three months after graduating UIC in 1998. I was interviewed and hired quickly afterwards."
"At the time, did you ever detect anything off about your employer?"
"Not at all," Edward replied honestly. "He seemed a nice enough guy, and also pretty popular in his ward. Plus," he sheepishly added, a blush coming to his cheeks, "I was just happy to get a job so soon after college."
"Can't blame you there, son," Travis replied, admirably enough. "At what point in time did you first suspect Mr. Duggle was potentially involved in unsavory actions?"
"Well, I've walked in on him having conversations with people, both in person and on his cell," Edward began, "and all of the sudden, he'd sorta clam up. This happened multiple times, and it always struck me as a little odd. Even after that, though, I didn't really feel suspicious until the 1999 election."
"Yes, and what about the 1999 election tipped you off," Travis inquired.
"He won with 85%," Edward simply said. "I know that he was well-liked in the ward," he explained, "but that seemed a bit high. I tried to ask him about the returns, see if I could look at any of the polling data, but he blew me off each time, and after a little while, I just let it drop."
"And you never inquired on the matter with him after that?"
"Naw," Thane replied, physically shaking his head. "I did try to look into it myself though, when I had free time. Stuff like looking into the people he spoke to, checking in on appointments he made with some of the more suspicious people. Truth be told," he added, blushingly, "I'm not much of a detective. I didn't really find much."
"But you still left, just a little over a year after the 1999 election," Travis pressed on. "Why did you resign?"
"Cause, and I know this will sound stupid to some people," he hastily replied in a self-defensive manner, "I knew something was up with him. I didn't know if he was corrupt for sure, but it didn't feel right. It was a feeling I had, and I couldn't shake it. I'll admit, I wasn't even sure anything was off about him at all until I had just about finally left."
"And what happened to convince you he was dirty," Travis asked, now at the meat of the issue at hand.
"I ran into a guy who runs a small but growing chemical lab, and he wanted to talk to Duggle. He musta thought I was in on it with him, because he started talking to me about how if there's some type of mishap with the chemicals his workers are handling, he'd like someone to back him up. He had $50,000 with him."
"Astounding," replied Travis. "Am I to take it that it was after that you left his employment?"
"I did, yes. The same day, I think."
"And Duggle never tried to pay you off, to keep what you knew from coming out," Travis inquired, about to wrap up this segment of the interview, keeping his eye on his producer.
"No. I'm sure he knows I know, but maybe he never really thought about me as a threat." Sheepishly, he added, "Guess he was wrong."
"I guess he was too, son," Travis replied, smiling. "With that folks, we'll take you to a commercial. When we return, we'll talk to Mr. Thane about how these new allegations are likely to proceed, and later, we'll discuss the upcoming gubernatorial election, and see if Jim Ryan's biggest roadblock is Blagojevich, George Ryan, or Jim Ryan himself. We'll be right back."
"You did really well tonight, Edward," Lee Travis said commendably, smiling at the young man before him. "If you want, we can even find a place for you on the show as a regular guest."
"Oh, God no," Thane replied quickly, and the both of them chuckled. "Thanks for the offer, but my finance would kill me. She already thinks I'll end up like Russell Crowe in The Insider."
"I sincerely doubt it," Lee replied good-naturedly, "but if it comes to that, I wish you luck. Again," he added, his face now serious, "I deeply thank and commend you for talking to me tonight. You came across to our listeners as the man you are: courteous, honest, and reliable. These next few weeks might be a bit bumpy, but you'll manage, I'm sure."
"Of course," Edward said, holding his hand out to the much-older man. "Thanks for letting me on, Mr. Travis."
Grasping his hand, Lee Travis smiled. "Anytime, friend. Anytime."
The mood was somber in the studio as Lee Travis was feeling, for one of the first times in his life, his actual age. Without the smile, or the twinkle of his eyes, of the previous night, he motioned for to go live. Seconds later, he was.
"Welcome to the Lee Travis Report, your source of political commentary and city news," he began, without much spirit. "And tonight, we are continuing the coverage of the 23rd Ward's Alderman, Richard Duggle. In the last week, he has been accused of both taking bribes from corporations and rigging his elections. I now add one more charge," Lee Travis grimly stated, his face stern in every muscle, "tonight, at this moment, I am accusing Mr. Duggle of murder."
"Last night, we had on our show the young, Mr. Edward Thane, a former employee of the accused, who informally testified against Mr. Duggle, and gave us all more information of the alleged illicit activities of the Alderman. Last night, after the show, I shook Thane's hand, thanking him for the immense help he's been in cracking open these additional allegations. I applauded his bravery to speak up, and I gave him my friendship." By this point, the pain in his voice was now obvious to every listener. "Mr. Edward Thane is now dead."
"Though the authorities have officially stated there's no evidence of a connection between Thane's testimony here and his death so far, the case is still being looked into. The cause of death was a hit-and-run outside of his apartment on South Merrimac Avenue. It seems to me far too coincidental that on the same night Thane releases the information he knew, he gets killed in a quote-in-quote 'random accident.'"
Travis suddenly stopped speaking. The air was silent before the producers quickly placed an advertisement on. For the first time in quite some time, Lee Travis broke down into tears in the studio.
Judge Davenport looked sternly over his friend of many years, shaking his head as the moon behind him shone brightly.
"You shouldn't have done that, and you know better," he stated, his disappointment obvious.
"Duggle had Edward Thane killed," Lee replied angrily, banging his right hand on his friend's desk, "and you know damn well that's true."
"But saying such on your broadcast constitutes slander under state law-" Davenport began, but was cut off.
"I've been on air for 33 years now, Rudy," Lee said, his fury not having ebbed. "You know how many times I've been brought to court. I've always gotten by. I'll get through this one too, if Duggle decides to sue."
"He will," Davenport nodded. "Politicians are not used to being accused of crimes such as murder. Rigging votes and receiving pay-offs?" Davenport waved his hand dismissively. "That comes with the territory. Murder? That's a whole new can of worms, and you damn well know it."
"If I get sued, I get sued, and there's not much I can do about it now," Lee said, slightly calmer than he had been most of the day. "But it's clear that Edward's death was not an accident."
Davenport mournfully shook his head. "Maybe, maybe not. That's for the police to find out. You cannot accuse public officials of crimes of this magnitude, though. It's unseemly."
Lee Travis sighed, feeling now more defeated than angry. "He shouldn't have died, Rudy."
"I know," his friend replied. "I know."
The two friends were silent, and shortly thereafter, Lee Travis left the office. He headed home.
In front of the body length mirror, Lee Travis stared at his reflection, tipping the fedora on his head. He then sighed.
God, I'm getting too old for this.
At 56, though, he knew that was far from true. While he only went out once a week or less, donning his secret identity, he still possessed the necessary prowess.
Fighting crime for almost three and a half decades did get old though. Not to mention, Crimson Avenger mused, this getup looked much better back in the 70's.
Lee Travis eyed himself over one last time, readjusting his mask before exiting his domicile into the moderately chilly night.
Outside, a light sprinkling had begun, which fit the mood well, Lee Travis thought, as he eyed, with a sad gaze, Edward Thane's finance.
Leah Scott was just 22, and already, she had lost far more than any one person deserved to lose. She openly sobbed.
"I'm sorry, Leah," Crimson Avenger began, his voice tender. "You didn't deserve this. Edward didn't either."
She sniffed away some tears at this, but still, the crying continued.
"I know you've spoken to the police, but I'm investigating the matter myself. Edward lived – he had a life, and while I knew him not personally, there is no way worse to go then murder. Personally, I do see this as murder, though I cannot prove that yet. After tonight, I hope to be able to."
"I-I," she stammered, her voice hoarse, "don't know what to do. I told Eddy that he might be in danger if he went on that damn radio show. He just laughed me off and did it anyways. He said," Leah continued, wiping her wet cheeks angrily with her left hand, "he was doing the right thing."
Crimson Avenger looked out the window of the small apartment, to the dark, drizzling eve. He took a deep breath, and replied.
"I know Lee Travis." He turned back to her, and stared deep into her eyes. "I know Lee Travis. If he had thought Edward would have been in any danger from appearing on his show, he never would have asked."
She sniffed again. "I don't know Mr. Travis, but I heard his show last night. He seems like a very good man."
"I think he tries, but sometimes his demons shout down the better angels of his mind. I know he'll never forgive himself for Edward's death, but with all he can do, he will fight for justice and the truth. He'll make sure that those responsible pay." Crimson Avenger paused, and added, "I will too."
Leah said nothing more. She just pulled Crimson Avenger into her arms, and sobbed onto his black tie. He held her there for the following ten minutes in silence.
The pitter-patter, pitter-patter of the still-falling drizzle was the sole sound discerned as the Crimson Avenger lightly stepped into the vacant office of Alderman Richard Duggle.
The building was both dark and mute, and more so, he had set off no alarms as he pushed the office window up. Lucky as I am so far, he pondered, as he began walking toward the dark oak desk, I can't afford to count my blessings too soon.
The office was neatly organized. Nothing was out of place. No papers were where they shouldn't be. In fact, nothing was where it shouldn't be.
The meticulous nature of Duggle's office pestered Crimson Avenger greatly, though he wasn't surprised. He glanced at the door, and then sat down in Duggle's chair. Slowly, with meaning, he began going through the drawers, papers, personal effects, whatever caught his eye.
It wasn't until thirty minutes had passed that the first clue had popped up, in the form of an ordinary, small leather notepad. In it, various corporation names were listed, along with the amount, Crimson Avenger guessed, that each paid off to Duggle in the margins.
Computers were too dangerous for this information, he considered. Duggle kept all his unsavory actions by hand.
He tossed the notepad on the clean desk, and continued through the vast amount of paperwork contained in the desk drawers, looking for any additional incriminating or suspicious artifacts.
It was another twenty minutes until he picked up a yellow Post-It note, with the phrase Call Clyde at Match written on it. And based on the various papers he'd seen that night, Crimson Avenger noted one additional fact about the small piece of paper – it wasn't in Duggle's handwriting.
He looked through the rest of the desk, finding little more of interest aside from lewd magazines in the bottom-most drawer which appeared far more used than Crimson Avenger would have preferred. These, he placed on the floor, spread out, sincerely hoping Mr. Duggle wasn't the first person to walk into the office the following morning.
Grabbing both the notepad and Post-It note, he, the same way he entered, left the building. Outside, using the wall as a surface on which to write, he scribed a quick letter to the Chicago police department.
As he signed it, he caught a fleeting glimpse out of the corner of his eye, and noted a small gang, it appeared, moving his way.
Without sparing them a second glance, he walked away, toward the nearest police station to drop off the Alderman's notepad and his own letter. The Post-It note, he would keep, as the identity of the man named Clyde intrigued him.
"He's the one who killed Edward," he muttered to himself, walking quickly down the mostly-deserted street. "I'll find you, Clyde. You just don't know it yet."
Call Clyde at Match
That's all he had. Crimson Avenger stood still in the hushed gloom of an empty alleyway, running the short note over and over in his mind. Almost 24 hours had passed, and already, Lee Travis' day had been busy enough. He wouldn't go home, though, until he made progress on catching Thane's actual killer. Duggle, as luck had it, was behind bars already.
Clyde isn't that common a name, he pondered. Get someone in the police department to do a quick search, and-
"Nah, that would take too long," he said aloud, and released a long sigh. Maybe if I can find out what 'Match' is, I can-
A voice, as surprising itself as the source, suddenly spoke.
"Clyde Calkins," Batman said, "Lake Meadows Apartments, Room 343."
Crimson Avenger said nothing, looking over the Dark Detective with stern eyes.
"Trust me, he's there. He already received money from Duggle, but he's not going anywhere," Batman said, his tone grim. "Can't say he won't try to run at some point tomorrow. Tonight, though, he's all yours."
Finding his voice, Crimson Avenger adjusted his fedora once more, and replied, "Didn't know you ever left Gotham."
"When necessary," Batman simply said, looking over the older man.
"And you know who I am," Crimson Avenger replied, honestly not surprised in the least.
"Lee Travis. 56. Life-long resident of Chicago. Radio host for three and a half decades. Tackles topics others can't, or won't," he recited. "Earlier tonight, you released a portion of the documents you found at Duggle's office linking him to a variety of crimes." Batman stood silent for a few seconds, then added, "I admire your work."
A small grin appeared on Crimson Avenger's face, but fell quickly. "Likewise. Other than supplying me with the identity of my perp, though, what are you doing in Chicago?"
"After the Thanagarian Invasion three weeks ago, Superman proposed we increase our ranks to include many more heroes, in order to better coordinate our actions across the globe, and more so, to provide Earth with a proper source of protection in case of another invasion."
"Is that likely," Crimson Avenger, half-jokingly.
"Wouldn't know," Batman replied, "but the point is, I am here to offer you a place in the League."
"And you wouldn't mind me spotlighting your detective shtick?"
Without so much as a small grin, Batman replied, "My costume's more menacing."
At this, Crimson Avenger broke out in a genuinely appreciative smile. "I'll be honored to join the League, should you honestly feel I'm up for the challenge."
"You've been fighting crime in Chicago and neighboring communities for even longer than you've been on the radio. Our trust is well-placed."
Crimson Avenged nodded. "I am guessing the Watchtower is being rebuilt?"
"Already close to complete, from my understanding," Batman replied. "You'll have a room up there, should you choose to use it."
"And I'll be later informed of when I should expect to be there?"
Batman nodded. "We still have a few others to recruit. Some have been difficult to track."
"Difficult for the Batman to track? Be still my beating heart."
"Don't think we're the only ones who know detective skills and how to hide from public eye," Batman replied rather sorely. "You'd be mistaken."
Crimson Avenger held out his hand to the Dark Detective, and he took it. "Lake Meadows Apartments, Room 343, yes?"
"Yes. Give Calkins hell for Thane. He didn't deserve that."
"No, he didn't," Crimson Avenger replied, shaking his head sadly. "I appreciate you stopping by."
"Of course. Good luck," Batman said, a tone of finality in his voice. Seconds later, he had disappeared into the darkness.
Crimson Avenger looked upward, past the over-towering structures, to the dusky sky.
"I wish I could see the stars," he muttered to himself, and a chill ran down his back. "I wish I could see the stars."
Ricky Sheldon was having one of the most bizarre days of his life.
Being an errand boy for a rather large mob boss, though, was conducive to bizarre days, so Ricky took it in stride. His job for the day was simple enough: pick up two individuals in his van, drive them to a bank in Elmhurst, and then take them to a safe house in Chicago after the robbery. All-in-all, the job was expected to be done with by approximately 2:00 pm.
It was now nearing 3:30 pm, and the squabbling hadn't subsided yet.
"I am not comfortable wearing my costume for the job," the man in the multi-colored, polka dot uniform insisted for what had to be the fifth time that day. "I told you, authorities still think I'm in Metropolis. If I'm seen here, I'm as good as caught."
The other one, dressed in an asbestos suit (Heatwave, Ricky believed), groaned loudly, and not for the first time. "So what if the authorities know you're not in Metropolis," he asked impatiently. "What damn difference does it make?"
"I'm not being looked for here," the mysterious man replied, his voice obviously more on edge than Heatwaves'. "It gives me the element of surprise, ya know, having the cops completely at a loss about where you are."
"I don't mean to burst your bubble, Spectro," Heatwave said, in a rather unkind tone, "but if you're actively being pursued in Metropolis, I'll eat my suit."
"Hey," Spectro heatedly replied, "I stole some secret plans from the military base there. They take that type of stuff seriously."
"Ohh," Heatwave mockingly proclaimed, "we got a badass over here." Eying his companion with distaste, he added, "You're already in costume, so I don't see the big problem with running in and pulling the job."
Ricky, whom under normal circumstances would be afraid to butt into a conversation between superiors, chimed in, rather bored at the moment. "Yeah, I don't see the problem either."
"Shut up," they both roared, and the argument continued. Ricky put his head down, thinking, I can't believe I'm working with such imbeciles. If I had more than a pistol, he considered, looking across the street wistfully at the bank, I'd rob the place myself.
Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a man clearly walking up to the parked van. While Ricky had never seen this man before in his life, he could tell he meant business.
The young man looked over his shoulders to the two, utterly hopeless villains, and then returned his gaze to the older man walking directly toward him. Ricky didn't know if this was a hit or not, but his will to live got the better of him, and without so much as a warning, he jumped out of his van and bolted down the street.
"-the worst person I've ever teamed up w-." Heatwave stopped mid-sentence, looking at the now-absent front seat. "What the hell was that," he inquired curiously, turning back to Doctor Spectro, the former agitation having ebbed from his voice.
"When you gotta go, you gotta go," he replied in a serious tone.
Heatwave looked at his companion for a brief second then burst out laughing, Spectro joining in immediately afterwards.
"I've been wanting to use that line for the longest time," Doctor Spectro explained, pleased the bickering, for now, had ceased. "Ever since I've seen that movie-"
"Excuse me," a new voice called out, causing both of them to stop mid-laugh, "but if you have a second, I'd like to speak to you two."
The man, whom distinctly wore a monocle, of all things, was sitting in Ricky's vacated seat, peering back at them. A smile, which grew ever wider as he explained his plans for the Justice League, struck them both as distinctive also.
Minutes later, Heatwave and Doctor Spectro accepted Monocle's offer without question.