A/N: I have to apologize to my faithful readers. First to those who have been waiting for this chapter for two years. My only excuse is that when I have time on my computer, I prefer to write new stories, not edit 30-year-old stories that have never been posted. I promise, all 12 remaining chapters have been edited.
Second apology goes to my Avengers followers who were hoping for a new story and are now saying WTF! Don't worry. I'm still writing Avengers/Captain America stories. This is an old saga written by me and my sister. Just for Kicks was written by me with additions by Jelsemium. But if you want to see the best car chase I've ever written, go to Fast Food, chapters 7-10.
Third is not an apology, just a reminder. This story was written at least 30 years ago. It predates cellphones, which is why no one has a cellphone in Part 1!
The Origin of MASK
Chapter 5: Just For Kicks, Part 1
By Qweb and/or Jelsemium
Dusty Hayes hugged the big box tight to his chest as he strode swiftly through the alley. He'd been fretting at the bit for an hour while the scientists at Holcomb Labs performed "just one more test" on the bright yellow mask. Then the lab had to carefully package the mask in the stiff cardboard box, before turning it over to the visibly fidgeting Dusty.
The one-time cowboy appreciated their care, but he knew Matt Trakker and Alex Sector expected him back an hour ago. And the phone in Trakker's Connecticut home hadn't been reconnected after the family's long absence, so Dusty couldn't call to reassure them.
And Dusty still had to face a long trek to the only parking place he'd been able to find in New York City. It was a good thing, the cheerful young man thought, that he didn't mind walking.
It was late in the afternoon, but not quite quitting time; so things were quiet. Dusty had the streets pretty much to himself, as he moved away from the prosperous lab building into an area of elderly tenements and small businesses. A more timid, more suspicious person might have avoided the alley shortcut. But Dusty, confident in the essential goodness of human nature, and in his own youthful strength, didn't think twice about it.
A sound from above warned him almost too late. He twisted aside, but the falling brick clipped the side of his head. The box spun from nerveless hands and he fell flat on his face, stunned but still conscious.
He heard his rooftop assailants giggling as they clattered down the rusty metal fire escape; but he couldn't move, couldn't even manage to turn his head to locate the box.
Venom agents had spread the word to keep an eye on certain major laboratories. Local hoods had been offered mouth-watering rewards to intercept any innocent looking messengers carrying large boxes out of those labs.
The members of the Dragon gang were too lazy and complacent to perform a concentrated stakeout; but a trio of the young thugs had happened to see Dusty leaving and decided to follow. When he headed toward the area they called "Ambush Alley," the temptation to attack was too much to resist.
But if the object in the box was that valuable to Venom, the Dragons weren't going to give it up without at least a peek.
"I wonder what's in this thing?" said one of the gang members as he pried at the sturdily fastened lid.
A scruffy looking thug about 19 moved into Dusty's range of vision, shaking the precious box as if it was a Christmas present. The sight of the mask in enemy hands sent adrenalin surging through Dusty's body, banishing the paralysis.
With a roar, he threw himself at the gang member. Dusty hit the smaller man hard, using his shoulder to drive the New Yorker into the wall. The box again went spinning through the year's collected litter.
Made even dizzier by the force of his blow, Dusty tried to turn to face the other assailants he knew must be there. But he was too slow. Strong arms grabbed him from behind, pinning him. As the first punk dodged out of the way, his two big friends slammed Dusty head first against the wall.
The Texan's knees buckled. Only the grip of his attackers kept him upright. As Dusty tried to focus his eyes, the first punk wiped the side of his mouth and snarled at the sight of his own blood. He reached into the debris that littered the alley and withdrew a long piece of wood, the remains of a packing crate.
"You should'a stayed down, man," the punk told Dusty. "Now we gotta teach you a lesson."
His own footsteps rustling through the trash drowned out the sudden rush from behind him; but a startled croak from one of Dusty's captors warned the punk, too late.
He started to turn.
"Hai-Yah!"
The solid sole of a surprisingly dainty shoe slammed into his face, breaking his nose in three places and throwing him against the brick wall for the second time that day. This time he went down limp and didn't move.
Dusty's captors released him. The Texan fell to hands and knees, getting his first good look at his assailants as they swaggered past him to confront his rescuer. They were big men in their early 20s, just about Dusty's age; but the hard lines on their faces made them look older. They wore leather jackets with the same lizard design that the younger punk had worn. They looked ominous.
But it was the figure that confronted them who held Dusty's fuzzy attention.
Not much more than five feet tall, it was a slender, decidedly feminine figure.
Her shoulder length brown hair was tied back loosely and the expression on her face was grim. The young woman, hardly older than the men who confronted her, wore a loose, white karate outfit, tied at the waist with a black cloth belt. Dusty may have been a naive country boy, but he knew what that meant. So, apparently, did her two attackers, for they approached more warily than her slight stature would have suggested.
"This is Dragon turf, lady," one of the men growled, brushing dirty blond hair out of his eyes. "Mind your own business."
"I told you before, this is my turf now," the girl replied. "You stay away from this alley or you'll get hurt."
The second man laughed sinisterly. "You don't have your friends with you now."
The girl laughed musically. "I didn't need my friends the last time. I just couldn't bear to deprive them of their fun."
The dark-haired man lunged and the woman went to meet him, moving so fast Dusty's befuddled senses could hardly take it in. She flashed in with a chop and an elbow blow, then ducked out from under his falling weight and spun to meet his blond companion.
The blond was more cautious and had some training. The two opponents sparred, neither finding an opening.
As Dusty watched, a movement caught the corner of his eye. The youngest punk had recovered from the woman's kick and, teeth bared, was stalking her with his wooden club. His embattled friend saw him coming and feinted to draw the woman's attention.
Everybody had forgotten about Dusty.
As the punk passed Dusty, the Texan launched himself head first at the man's back. The cowboy put everything he had into the leap. It wasn't much, under the circumstances, but it knocked the man to the ground and cracked his head against the pavement. Breathing heavily, Dusty lay sprawled across his unconscious opponent without the strength to move.
The girl half turned at the commotion behind her. Her attacker took advantage of her distraction to swing a big paw at the back of her head. But the woman wasn't as distracted as she seemed.
The gang member found his hand gripped by small but steely fingers, felt a hip planted in his gut. Then he was hurtling through a short arc, up off the ground, over the girl's head and then down to the ground again, hard. He landed flat on his back with an awful wheeze; then the woman put him out of his misery with a knifelike thrust of her hand.
She shook back the unruly hair, which had fallen loose of its tie and swept her gaze over the field of combat. She was the only one left standing.
Slowly, Dusty levered himself up to hands and knees and fell back on his haunches. The girl was at his side with quick concern, catching his swaying shoulders, steadying him.
"Are you all right?"
"I couldn't say for sure," Dusty replied with a faint shadow of a grin. "I'm not thinkin' clear enough to judge."
"Can you make it over to my place?" she asked.
She gestured toward the end of the alley, at a martial arts studio, "Protection Incorporated."
By way of an answer, Dusty started to get to his feet. The girl took his arm around her shoulders to help him in his laborious climb. He might have been surprised at the strength that was disguised by her slight frame, if he hadn't already seen her in action.
Dusty made it to his feet, but balked when she tried to lead him away.
"My box," he said, trying to look around, though every movement of his head sent a wave of dizziness washing through him.
"All right, I'll get it," she said when it was obvious he wouldn't go without it.
She propped Dusty against the wall, and retrieved the box from its trashy resting place. The box was pretty bulky, but she managed to wrap one arm around it and the other around Dusty's waist. Slowly they started toward the studio.
Behind them, one of the thugs stirred. He lifted his head up groggily and vowed to himself that Venom would never hear about this. If he had any say in the matter, nobody would ever hear about this.
The teakettle was screaming in a piercing wail that made Dusty wince. The woman settled him in one of the few chairs in the studio, at a small table in the tiny kitchen at the back of the building; then she snatched the rapidly emptying kettle from the fire.
Dusty held his aching head in his hands, his elbows resting on the table. The woman pushed a cup of tea and a couple of aspirins under his nose.
"Here, look at me," she said, tilting his head up.
The lines of pain around his eyes tightened as he faced the light; but as far as she could tell, Dusty's eyes reacted normally, the pupils contracting evenly. She wouldn't have dared give him anything for the pain if they hadn't.
"I should call an ambulance," she said.
Dusty started to shake his head, but thought better of it.
"I'll be all right. It's not the first time I've been dropped on my fool head," he said. "I really 'preciate your help, Miss … ?"
"Gloria Baker," she replied, taking the hand he extended.
"Dusty Hayes," he said. "Pleased to meet you."
Gloria laughed at the sincere emphasis Dusty put on the conventional phrase. She liked what she saw in the Texan's guileless eyes. He didn't seem to be at all embarrassed that his rescuer was a woman. And she liked his firm grasp. So many men were either tentative about shaking a woman's hand or else they offered a finger crushing grip.
Dusty never thought twice about Gloria saving him. On the rodeo circuit he'd known a lot of competent cowgirls, capable of controlling strong horses and tough men. He classed Gloria in the same league.
"Thanks for watching my back, Dusty," Gloria said.
"Wouldn't have been polite to let that fella hit you when you weren't lookin'," Dusty said solemnly. "If you're gonna hit a lady, you ought to at least let her see it comin'."
Gloria chuckled again. She tapped the box that rested on the table.
"This must be pretty valuable, the way you were fighting for it."
Dusty swallowed the aspirin and took a gulp of the hot tea to wash them down. He held the heavy mug in both hands, despite the heat, afraid his trembling hands would drop it.
"It's not 'zactly valuable, but it's important," he finally replied. " But mostly, it's not mine. Belongs to a friend, and I promised to deliver it."
Dusty looked at his watch and groaned. He pushed himself to his feet, but had to keep a tight grip on the table as dizziness claimed him. Gloria was at his side, urging him to sit back down. He finally had to accede.
"I was supposed to be back near an hour ago," Dusty moaned. "Matt'll be worried sick."
At Dusty's urging, the girl tried to call the Trakker house, but all she got were funny noises indicating they were working on the line.
Dusty set his jaw in determined lines and stood up carefully.
When Matt had asked for his help, Dusty had left his pizza restaurant in the capable hands of his often bewildered but never nosy assistant and joined Trakker for the MASK transport's maiden flight to Connecticut. The Texan wasn't about to fail his first official MASK mission.
He let go of the table. He swayed. Gloria caught his arm to keep him from falling.
"I gotta get back," Dusty said through gritted teeth.
"You can't … " Gloria started, but it was obvious nothing she could say would convince Dusty he ought to rest longer. "At least let me drive you."
"I couldn't ask … "
"You're not asking anything. I'm volunteering," she said firmly. "Where's your car. I'll get it."
She held out her hand for the keys.
Tooling along the turnpike, Gloria was trying to figure out just what kind of vehicle this jeep was. Dusty called it Gator; but she'd never heard of a Gator car. Outside, it looked like a jeep; but inside, the controls were screwy. It almost looked like there were two sets of them, plus a couple of spares.
She didn't have any trouble driving with the familiar stick shift, but she puzzled over some of the options. Why would a car have a gauge to measure nautical miles?
"Your Gator sure is an unusual car," she said finally.
Dusty smiled at her carefully restrained curiosity.
"She's one of a kind," was all he said.
"What does this button do?" she asked touching the bright red button that occupied a prominent position on the dash.
"Don't push that!" Dusty exclaimed.
Gloria put her hand back on the wheel, to Dusty's relief.
"What is it, an ejection seat?" she said sarcastically.
"Somethin' like that," Dusty agreed.
She flashed him a look to see if he was kidding. He looked dead serious. Silently, she vowed she wasn't going to touch anything in this funny looking jeep. She didn't want to fire up a smoke screen or dump an oil slick on the pavement by trying to turn on the radio.
"What exactly do you do, cowboy. When you're not delivering mysterious boxes."
"Mostly I deliver pizzas," Dusty said.
She flashed him another suspicious look, wondering why a car that delivered pizzas needed an ejection seat. She started to ask, then thought better of it. Every answer had only confused her more.
It would have been all right if she'd thought Dusty was putting her on. But he sounded completely serious and she didn't think he was much of a hand at lying.
"What do you do when you're not teachin' other folks how to punch people's lights out?" Dusty asked.
"Well, for fun I drive racecars," Gloria said, wondering if that would shock the country boy.
Dusty did look surprised, but not for conventional reasons.
"Are you the Gloria Baker who won the Miller 300?"
It was Gloria's turn to be surprised, but she agreed she'd won the California race.
"I saw that," Dusty said, admiration apparent in his voice. "That was some drivin' the way you got out of that pocket on the last turn."
They talked more about racing and Dusty learned that Gloria also put her driving skill to work in Protection Incorporated.
"It's not just martial arts," she said. "It's all kinds of self-protection. How to fight off an attacker and when not to. How to burglar proof your house and when to call the police. I also teach protective driving."
"Like to folks who might be kidnapped — rich folks and ambassadors and such?"
She nodded. "And their chauffeurs."
"Guess my Gator's in good hands, then," Dusty said.
He leaned back with a sigh. Despite her unfamiliarity with the controls, Gloria handled the jeep as smoothly as Dusty could. She shifted gears smoothly with nary a jolt or grind. But Gator still bounced along the road in an aggressive motion that was renewing Dusty's headache. Dusty thought Gator was just about perfect but, this once, he wished she had less rugged shock absorbers.
Gloria saw Dusty close his eyes and rub his aching head. She was glad they were near their destination.
Matt Trakker was pacing back and forth across the living room. His son, Scott, was building an elaborate Ferris wheel with an Erector Set in the corner of the room, hindered by his helpful robot companion, T-Bob. The boy kept glancing at his father, but he didn't say anything. Dusty was almost two hours late, now, and Scott knew his father was worried. Alex Sector folded his newspaper noisily and frowned at Matt.
"Dusty's a big boy, Matt. He can take care of himself," he said.
"One of us should have gone with him, Alex," Matt replied. "We know Mayhem is getting suspicious. They might have people watching all the top labs."
"They couldn't possibly watch everywhere, old chap."
"No," Matt agreed. "But Holcomb's the leading expert in forcefields. He'd be a logical one to spy on."
Alex frowned, scratching his bushy red beard in thought. There was some sense to that. On the other hand …
"You know what Holcomb's like, Matt. 'Just one more test.' He probably kept Dusty cooling his heels for hours. And Dusty couldn't call with the phone out."
Matt relaxed fractionally. It was certainly true that Holcomb was always late because he was so very cautious. Reminded of the telephone, Matt crossed to it and picked it up. He was greeted by a dial tone.
"They finally connected the phone," he told Alex as he started to dial. "I think I'll check with the lab."
The news didn't reassure him.
"Holcomb was late," he said. "But Dusty left hours ago. He should have been back by now."
Alex rubbed his bald head, a sure sign that he had joined Matt in worrying.
Gloria pulled up to the wrought iron gate and looked across the wide expanse of lawn at the neat little, two-story house. The house itself was modest; but the property was huge.
"Are you sure this is the right place?"
A voice came out of a speaker at her left.
"Good evening," the computer said in an expressionless woman's voice. "Please identify yourself and state your business."
Dusty leaned across the seat and said his name.
"You are expected. Please come in," the voice said as the gate clicked open and swung wide in invitation.
"Who did you say your friend is?" Gloria asked as she followed the driveway to the front of the house.
Dusty hadn't said; but he told her now, smiling in anticipation of her surprise. She didn't disappoint him.
"Matt Trakker! But he's … "
Rich. Famous. Important. Gloria didn't finish her sentence; but Dusty could figure her thoughts for himself. How'd someone like Dusty get to know someone like Matt Trakker? Dusty couldn't take offense at her surprise. He was more amazed by it than she would ever be.
Matt and Alex relaxed as the computer announced Dusty's arrival.
"See, I told you," Alex said, as if he'd never considered worrying.
Scott leaped up and ran to the window to watch Gator pull up out front. He stared.
"Hey, Dad. There's some lady driving Gator!"
"What?!"
Matt jumped for the window with Alex on his heels. They saw Gloria get out and walk around the car to help Dusty.
"He's hurt!" Matt exclaimed, in an "I knew it" voice.
They burst out of the door with such force that Gloria spun automatically in a defensive crouch. But they hardly even saw her.
"Dusty! Are you all right? What happened? Dad was awful worried," Scott cried.
"I'm sorry, Matt," Dusty said. "I got jumped by three crooks after the ma…uh…box, and…"
"The hell with the box," Matt said violently. "Are you all right?"
His outburst drew a grin from Dusty and Gloria. Dusty had told her Matt would be more worried about him than about the box, no matter how important it was. Scott also grinned. He wasn't allowed to use such language and he'd remind his father of that slip at some opportune moment.
Dusty attempted to reassure Matt that he was okay; but since Matt had to help the shaky cowboy inside, the reassurance didn't take. No one paid any attention to Gloria. She shrugged and followed them inside, carrying the box.
"I tried to get him to see a doctor, but he insisted he had to get back here," she said.
"I'm sorry, miss," Matt said, recalled to his manners. "It was good of you to bring Dusty home."
"She did more than that, Matt," Dusty chimed in. "Gloria saved my hide. She chased the bad guys off and kept them from gettin' the box."
Gloria set the box in Matt's hands as if in proof of the Texan's words. Matt looked at it, bemused. The top of the girl's head barely reached Matt's chin. It seemed impossible that she had rescued the husky cowboy. Alex was even more incredulous.
"You rescued Dusty?"
There was a tinge of amusement in Alex's words which got Gloria's back up. But Dusty's enthusiastic reply cut off anything she might have said.
"She sure did, Alex. A couple'a kicks and chops and she kung fu'ed those turkeys right into the ground. It just might be the prettiest fightin' I ever saw."
"Might be?" Gloria said in amusement.
"Well, if I could'a focused my eyes to see it."
Dusty grinned; but Gloria didn't think his eyes were focusing any too well now.
"He should really be in bed," she told Matt.
"I agree," Alex said.
He got to his feet and helped Dusty up.
"Come on, chap."
But Dusty balked.
"Can't just leave Gloria here," he protested.
"I'm a big girl, Dusty. I can look after myself," she said, unconsciously echoing Alex.
"Reckon you can, but you can't walk clear back to New York," Dusty said as Alex firmly forced him to the stairs.
"There must be a train around here," she looked at Matt.
"I'll drive you to the station as soon as I call the doctor," Matt promised as he picked up the phone.
Dusty surrendered to Alex's insistence and went upstairs.
"Take care of your head, cowboy," Gloria called after him.
"Watch your back, Gloria," Dusty replied before he was dragged out of sight.
Matt finished talking to his neighbor, Dr. Schwarz, and hung up.
He rubbed his hand through his hair.
"I should really stay until he gets here," he apologized. "Can you wait?"
"But she'll miss the next train, Dad," Scott protested. "T-Bob and I could take her."
Ordinarily, 10-year-old Scott didn't have much use for girls. But any girl who clobbered the bad guys who had felled the sturdy Texan was someone he wanted to get to know better.
"You and T-Bob?" Gloria asked.
"Sure. T-Bob, convert!"
T-Bob obediently converted into a motor scooter. His arms folded back into handles. A wheel dropped from his belly. A seat popped out of his back. He extended his legs behind him for balance.
Gloria clapped her hands in delight.
"That was terrific!" she said.
"Awww, it wasn't much," the robot squeaked modestly. "You should see me microwave pizza."
"All right, Dad?"
Matt looked at Gloria.
"If you're sure … ?"
"I've never ridden on a robot before, it should be fun," Gloria said. "You stay here and take care of Dusty."
"All right. Thank you."
Matt held out his hand and laughed as she took it.
"I don't even know your name," he said.
Formal introductions were exchanged and Gloria gave Matt a few more details as to the attack on Dusty. Matt was relieved to hear Venom wasn't involved. He also appreciated the way Gloria told the story, emphasizing Dusty's stubborn refusal to give up while minimizing her own part. She obviously didn't want Dusty to get in trouble with his boss. Matt liked that.
As the doctor appeared down the driveway, she prepared to leave with Scott. Matt escorted them to the door.
"At least let me pay for your ticket," Matt said, forcing some money into her hands.
"Really, that's not necessary," Gloria protested.
"Please," Matt practically begged. "You went to all that trouble to help Dusty and bring him back. It's the least I can do."
She was still shaking her head.
"Well, if you won't take my money, I'll just have to buy the railroad and let you ride for free," he said mildly.
Gloria looked at him sharply, unsure whether he was joking or not. After all, Dusty had said stranger things than that and had meant every word. Matt regarded her blandly, the money still extended. She laughed and took it.
"Thank you," Matt said. "I really can't tell you how much I appreciate what you did. Most people wouldn't have got involved at all. Let alone attack three muggers unarmed."
A kittenish look crossed Gloria's face and she leaped. A swift sidekick flashed past Matt's nose so fast that, by the time he finished his involuntary flinch, she had her feet firmly planted on the ground again. Gloria regarded the startled man with all innocence.
"But Mr. Trakker," she said sweetly. "I'm never unarmed."
Scott and T-Bob had to struggle to control their giggles as the three rode away. Matt grinned faintly. But, as he ushered the doctor in, his concern for Dusty overwhelmed him again. The doctor went up and Alex came down.
"That's some lady," said Alex who had seen the whole episode from the stairs.
"Yes," Matt agreed absently, but his mind wasn't on it. He slumped down in a chair.
"Don't take it so hard, lad," Alex said, putting his hands on the younger man's shoulders. "The mask is safe and Dusty will be back on his feet in a few days. Everything turned out fine."
"But what about next time? Alex, if Dusty had been seriously injured … "
"There's no sense borrowing trouble, Matt. He wasn't."
Matt began pacing again. "But he could have been. I've gotten so involved in building my toys and recruiting my players, that I forgot this isn't a game. We're going to be fighting some of the most dangerous criminals in the world, and the odds are, someone's going to get hurt sooner or later. I can take the risk myself, but is it fair to involve anyone else? I don't know if I could forgive myself if someone got killed on my account."
"All life is risk, Matt. You can lock yourself in your house and never go out, because you're afraid of the traffic. But that won't help you if an airplane falls through the roof. Everyone on the team is a volunteer. We know what we're getting into. You're not responsible for us."
"But I'm supposed to be the leader."
Alex sighed and shook his head.
"Maybe you'd better talk to Dusty, before you scrap the whole idea of MASK," he suggested.
The doctor came down the stairs.
"How is he?" Alex asked.
"I think he'll be fine," Schwarz said. "A mild concussion, if that. I'd feel more comfortable if he spent the night in the hospital, just as a precaution, but he argued me out of it." The doctor grinned. "As long as someone can check on him during the night, and call me if anything happens."
The doctor explained that someone would have to wake Dusty up every hour and make sure he was still rational. If he wouldn't wake up, or if he appeared disoriented, it was a sign the head injury was more severe than the doctor expected. Matt, of course, volunteered to stand guard duty. The doctor assured him it was just a precaution.
"If I really expected anything to happen I'd drag that young man to the hospital myself!"
"Can I see him?" Matt asked.
"It's your house," Schwarz said as he scribbled out a prescription. "I gave him something for the pain that will probably make him drowsy. Let him sleep it off and make sure he doesn't do any strenuous work for the next two or three days. No driving. I'll come back and check on him on Thursday."
In the next episode:
Dusty and Matt spend a sleepless night;
Gloria learns that car can fly;
And a doctor curses the Red Baron