Ring the Bell

February 3, 1941

Ted Grant had to admit, the last punch he did not see coming. It was a beauty, all direct force delivered to the side of his left cheek. There was no sequence between the hit and him being on the barroom floor, his back stinging from the bits of bottle glass scattered around. Just the punch and the result.

"Quick while he's down," shouted one of the tough guys that were still standing.

Ted made to get up, but his legs weren't all that receptive. His hands slipped on the spilled booze. A big fellow grabbed him in a head lock, dragging him to his feet, while his compatriot went to work on Ted's abdomen. Not for the first time, he was glad for practice "Socker" Smith gave him with getting punched in the gut. While the man wailed on him, Ted bucked his legs up, his feet pressing into the smaller assailant's midsection. He used the force to push the big guy back till he slammed into the bar, loosening his grip. Ted slipped out and spun around, the momentum of his spin released in an uppercut that knocked the big man over the bar counter. The other thug came at him from behind. Ted side-stepped his attack and grabbed the back of his hair. He slammed the man down onto the bar counter and held him there.

"Now, this is the part where you tell me where Flint and Skinner are holed up. If you want to keep all your teeth that is," said Ted.

The man cursed and tried to break free. Ted repaid his earlier efforts by smashing his face onto the bar again. Not hard enough to knock him out.

"That was your one freebie. The next one's costing you," said Ted.

The man quit his struggles. "They got a place behind Miller's workshop. The one in Hell's Kitchen."

Ted rendered the man unconscious. He reached over the counter and grabbed an unbroken bottle. A little gift to himself. He would repay it. And all the other damage. The bar was a minefield of splintered tables and chairs, smashed glass, and bodies. One of the fans hung sideways, dangling from the cables. Anyone with sense had long departed the establishment. The feeling of the mask on his face reminded Ted that he wasn't in that category either.

He was five steps out the door when a car screeched to a halt and deposited another gaggle of goons, all armed with bats, hammers and pistols. Ted ignored the ache in his shoulder, his cheek, his back, his everything and put up his dukes.

The roar of an engine down the street drew everyone's attention from the start of their fight. A motorcycle came screaming between the thugs and Ted, nearly bowling over the more eager combatants. The only thing more impressive than the bike was the woman riding it. A blond bombshell with a leather jacket, fishnets and the legs to pull them off.

"Need a ride, Wildcat?"

Their escape concluded in a back alley, a few dozen blocks from the bar brawl. They hadn't spoken much on the ride. The gunfire that followed them had made conversation unlikely.

"You still haven't asked who I am," said the woman.

Ted stretched his arms and legs, working out the kinks in them. "Black Birdie."

"Canary."

"That's the one." He plucked a shard of glass from his thigh. "Seen you in the paper, with your buddies."

It wasn't worth sharing now, but the paper was how Ted got the idea for the whole Wildcat gimmick. Saw a kid reading the funny pages with a story about Green Lantern in it. Figured it wasn't a bad idea, wearing a mask and a costume considering his circumstances.

"Ain't you usually in Gotham?" said Ted.

"I was in town. Heard you might need help." She leaned against the motorcycle. Ted pretended not to stare.

"Well, you helped me. I better be on my way."

She raised an eyebrow. "So soon?"

"I got an appointment with a pair of fellas that's been a long time coming. I wait any longer and they'll scram. Especially once they hear their little ambush didn't work."

"Nicky Flint and Ed Skinner," said Canary.

It was Ted's turn to give her a quizzical look.

"I've done my homework. Ted."

"Is this where you pull out the cuffs? Didn't want to share the reward with your pals?"

"This is the part where I help you get Flint and Skinner." She climbed back on the motorcycle. "How's that sound?"

"Like a dream come true."

Ted Grant didn't have the average person's metric for normal. But, the past few months were outside even those expanded bounds. The Depression claimed his mom and pop. He spent his adolescence on the streets, scraping by with odd jobs and the occasional act of larceny. People didn't care for him and Ted didn't care for people. It wasn't till he made the choice to help a stranger that his life turned around. He intervened in a mugging, the victim of which was none other than the boxer Steven "Socker" Smith, off his game thanks to a sucker punch. Smith gave Ted the chance to work at his gym, under his tutelage. To become a boxer too. At least for a time.

That upward trajectory of fortune ended when Smith's managers got greedy. They took a look at their aging star and decided there was more to be made betting on his fall. It was a friendly bout, barely real, but Flint and Skinner had cash on the line. They altered Ted's boxing gloves, put a needle in them. One that would send Smith to the mat within the first three rounds. Only the bastards got the dose wrong. Smith went down all right. Six feet down.

The law scooped up Ted without even hearing his story. Flint and Skinner must have been spooked anyway because they tried to have him killed. By the time the last bullet casings hit the ground, Ted's police escorts were dead and he was a wanted man. Hence, the getup. And the need to get even.

Black Canary couldn't have weighed more than 130 pounds soaking wet, but she could sure put a man down. The pair of them made short work of the thugs that staffed Miller's workshop, fighting their way into the backrooms, where the real deals were done. Ted would've paid anything for a picture of the look on Flint and Skinner's face when they busted the door down to their office. Ted could see the rest of the workshop through a window. Must have be tinted because he hadn't noticed it on the way up.

"Nice hidey-hole you've got here," said Wildcat. He cracked his knuckles.

There was only one other goon in the room with them and from the looks of it he wasn't packing heat.

"You can walk away fella. No hard feelings," said Ted.

The man got between his bosses and the two heroes.

"Suit yourself."

Ted's fist nearly broke when it hit the man's jaw. Like punching rock. Black Canary didn't fare much better, as her kick lodged her foot in the man's abdomen.

"What the hell?" she said.

The man batted the two of them away with an oversized fist, as his skin appeared to melt into a brown substance. He swelled up till he stood two heads larger than Ted and twice as wide.

"Meet Clayface," said Flint.

"Oh no," said Black Canary as she got to her feet.

"Friend of yours?" said Ted.

"Only heard of him. He's one of Batman's"

"My name proceeds me. Every actor's dream," said Clayface.

History repeated as Ted sailed through the office window. He skidded over a workbench, sending tools flying all over the ground. Bits of clay globs stuck to his side where he was punched. Black Canary dropped to the workshop as well, avoiding Clayface's elongated arms, which hardened into fists and spikes with each salvo.

"Aren't guys like this right up your alley?" wheezed Ted.

"Usually I have the others to handle the inhuman ones."

Clayface slid down from the office. "Inhuman. How rude."

The monster bashed the bench that Ted had just been on. The metal crumpled with the force. A few exploratory punches confirmed that this wasn't a fight they were winning with their fists alone. Clayface could change composition too quickly.

Ted took cover beside Canary. "You at least know how Batman beat this guy?"

"Well, from what I hear he had Superman with him the first time."

This got better and better. One of Clayface's limbs slunk around their cover and grabbed Ted's arms, throwing him like a doll. His involuntary flight was stopped by a stack of gas cylinders. One of them punctured, venting its contents. Ted pulled his arm away from it when a blast of frozen air nipped at him. The bits of clay turned brittle and crumpled. Interesting.

Black Canary was doing her best to run Clayface through the tight spaces of the workshop, but it was only a matter of time before he boxed her in. Ted grabbed a cylinder under each arm and jogged toward the monster. He set one down and climbed up on a counterspace.

"Hey Bogart," he shouted. Clayface shifted his attention.

Ted fumbled with the release on the first cylinder. Probably should've figured it out before trying this stunt. He undid the valve right as the wave of gunk overtook him. Clayface recoiled as the frozen gas swept over his body, hardening it to the point where it couldn't move.

A tendril slapped the canister out of Ted's hands, as Clayface appeared to split himself in two, breaking off the frozen chunk. He grabbed Ted's torso and squeezed.

"Nice trick. You won't get to do it twice."

Ted's already battered ribs threatened to fail.

"What about me?"

Black Canary brought the sledgehammer down on the end of the canister, which punctured a hole clean through it. Where Ted had delivered a steady stream of the gas, Black Canary blasted Clayface with a full barrage of it. The monster barely had time to contort his gaping mouth into an expression of confused rage before he was made still.

Canary used her tool to free Ted, breaking off the chunk that continued to hold him. He rubbed his sides. "Not bad lady. Not bad at all."

They caught up with Flint and Skinner a block away. Black Canary handled delivering them to the cops, with evidence that pointed to their involvement in Socker's death. Ted figured neither man trusted the other enough to destroy all of it. With any luck, Ted Grant would be an innocent man once more. Black Canary met him again in another alley. Ted held an ice pack to his body, alternating between his cheek, his ribs and his wrist.

"Can't say I coulda done it without you," said Ted.

"I'm sure you would have figured out a way to beat Clayface. Worn down his fists with your face."

"She's got jokes too."

"Is this where Wildcat hands up his gloves?"

Ted didn't answer. He hadn't afforded himself the opportunity to think this far ahead.

Black Canary held the ice pack for him for a moment. Barely a scratch on her.

"I was in town on Justice Society business."

"Uh huh."

"We could use a guy like you."

"Ain't you already got guys like me? There's that short one… the Atom. I know he's got a mean uppercut."

"There can be more than one."

"Tell that to him." Ted grimaced from the pain. "Say, the are all the broads on your team as good looking as you?"

"They're not as patient as me."

"Heh."

She handed him back the ice pack. "What do you think?"

Ted stood up, shaking out the stiffness in his leg.

"I think I'll take a raincheck. I need to sort out my life before I commit to any of this big time hero business."

Black Canary got on her bike. She revved the engine. "Till then."

"See you around beautiful."

When he was little, too little to really understand, Ted Grant's father had told him to live an exciting life. If nothing else, Ted was sure he could live up to that.