Who Was That Masked Man Anyway?
Page 4
“One thing. Can I have the radio? When my punishment week is up, I mean.”
“Frankie, I think Tom will want it.”
“But what about all my programs?”
“Well, if Tom doesn’t care —”
“But he will.”
“Franklin Delano Wattleson! You should be ashamed of yourself!”
“Ma, it’s like a dungeon down there. I’ll wither away.”
“Don’t exaggerate.”
“Don’t I have any choice?”
“No.”
“Can I ask just one more thing?”
“What?”
“Can I eat a bowl of POW! before I go to bed?”
“ ’LO, MR. SWERDLOW.”
“Oh, hello, Frankie. Didn’t see you in the dark there. You’re up late, aren’t you?”
“I wanted to tell you the news.”
“What news is that?”
“My brother, Tom, is coming home.”
“Oh, good. Glad to hear it.”
“He got terribly wounded.”
“Did he?”
“See, he captured this island single-handed. So I think Tom learned a lot in the last few months.”
“I’m sure.”
“There’s one thing he hasn’t learned, though.”
“What’s that?”
“He can’t have his room back. I guess that’s the price he’s paid for the relentless fight of one man against the forces of evil.”
“I’m sure he’ll adjust.”
“I’m giving him my room. I’m going to the basement.”
“That’s nice of you.”
“Mr. Swerdlow, if you wanted to, you could move down to the basement instead of me. You could have it for nine dollars and ten cents a week. In one year you’d have saved … Well, it’s a lot.”
“Frankie, I like it where I am.”
“There’s a lot more room there. It’s the most private place in the whole house. No one goes there. And then Tom could have his own room.”
“Frankie, you’re going to have to excuse me. I’ve some studying to do.”
“Mr. Swerdlow! My brother has made a whole lot of sacrifices. For us. For the world! It’s the least you can do!”
“Good-night, Frankie.”
“I warn you, I intend to lead the fight for law and order in this house!”
“CHET BARKER, Master Spy!”
“Da-dum, da-dum!”
“Shredded Oat Cakes brings you another thrilling adventure of Chet Barker, Master Spy! Chet Barker, ruthless, clear-eyed, cunning, and full of potential. Chet Barker, thundering out of the dim past in a constant search for his true identity! Chet Barker, fighting hand to hand for what’s right. On the land!”
“On the sea!”
“And in the air! Da-dum! With his faithful but eccentric sidekick, Skipper O’Malley, Chet Barker believes in the American way!”
“Da-dum!”
“And now for today’s adventure. It’s called Into the Dungeon! As we discover our young heroes, they are heading down the back stairs. I say, ‘Look out for boa constrictors, Skip.’ You say, ‘I’m a watching, Chet.’ ”
“I’m a watching, Chet.”
“Bullets whine. Ping! Ping! You say, ‘I don’t like this, Chet.’ ”
“I don’t like this, Chet.”
“I say, ‘Keep her steady, Skip.’ You say, ‘I’m a trying, Chet.’ ”
“I’m a trying, Chet.”
“I see the door. It’s covered with snot.”
“That’s disgusting, Frankie!”
“That’s the whole point!”
“They wouldn’t do that on the radio. And my mother doesn’t want me to be disgusting.”
“Come on, Mario.”
“But it’s really disgusting.”
“We going to do this or not?”
“I just want to see your new room.”
“Okay, the door is covered with slime.”
“That’s better.”
“I say, ‘Brace yourself.’ You say, ‘I’m a doing it.’ ”
“Frankie, what’s all this ‘a’ stuff?”
“That’s the way sidekicks talk!”
“You never said so before.”
“Mario, you ruin everything! Okay, there, see.”
“Oh, wow. You really going to live here?”
“Have to clean it up. Does have one great thing, though.”
“What?”
“Coal chute.”
“What’s so great about that?”
“We can use it as a secret entrance.”
“It’s too filthy.”
“That’s the whole point. No one else would think of using it.”
“So much junk…. What are these lists?”
“I don’t know.”
“All these names. Shoo-in. Bright Wind. Galloping Gold. Silver Blast. With numbers after them. What’s it mean?”
“Codes.”
“What kind of codes?”
“Secret ones, I suppose. Yeah, a G-man once lived here.”
“Sure, sure. But what do they mean?”
“Mario, if they weren’t secret, they wouldn’t be codes, right?”
“Well …”
“So if they are codes, that means it’s secret, right? And if it’s a secret, that means I can’t tell you, right?”
“You know what? I just figured out something.”
“What?”
“Whenever you don’t know an answer, you say, ‘It’s a secret.’ ”
“Makes it more interesting.”
“Hey, Frankie, with you down here we won’t be able to talk much.”
“Sure, we can. I just sent off for a Silver Fox Junior G-man Walkie-talkie.”
“You did?”
“Four Corn Cracks box tops and thirty-five cents.”
“I hate Corn Cracks.”
“Me too.”
“You had to eat it, though.”
“Naw. I flushed most of it down the toilet.”
“Didn’t your mother get mad?”
“Think I did it with her standing there?”
“When’s Tom coming?”
“Any day. I asked Mr. Swerdlow to give his room back to him, but he won’t.”
“Pays rent, doesn’t he?”
“I know. But I really need to get him out. And I will too….”
“All this stuff…. What’s that?”
“Boxes.”
“No, that.”
“I don’t know…. Oh, wow, gee whiz, Mario, look. A radio!”
“Well, maybe.”
“I’m sure it is!”
“I’m not.”
“It is! Look!”
“Well, if it is, it’s old. All these dials. This must be the speaker. Only it’s separate.”
“I don’t care. Think it’ll work?”
“Don’t know.”
“Mario, you can fix it. I know you can.”
“This stuff all right to fool with?”
“I’ll go ask my pop.”
“POP?”
“What’s that?”
“In the basement there’s all this stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“Radio stuff.”
“Radio stuff? Oh, yeah. Belonged to your uncle Charley.”
“Pop, did I ever know Uncle Charley?”
“He was your mother’s brother.”
“Yeah, but did I ever see him?”
“Once. Maybe. I’m not sure.”
“Is he dead?”
“No.”
“Where’d he go, then?”
“What is this, ‘The Answer Man’?”
“But if he’s gone, can I have his things? Can I? Please?”
“Frankie, don’t bother me. Can’t you see how tired I am?”
“WHAT DID HE SAY?”
“Said I wasn’t supposed to bother him.”
“What’s that mean?”
“That’s what grown-ups say when they don’t kno
w the answer. Think you can get it to work?”
“With this speaker not being part of the set, I don’t know…. Boy, I don’t like this place.”
“Good training.”
“For what?”
“Being locked up in jail. You know what I think?”
“What?”
“See that broken wire? And that one?”
“Yeah …”
“I bet they attach here.”
“Frankie, I don’t think so.”
“Sure, they do.”
“Frankie, you’re going to blow a fuse or something.”
“Mario, the only way to know if things work is to plug ’em in.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“Well, I am. Here goes. Anything happening?”
“It’s starting to smoke. Frankie! Unplug!”
“Shhh!”
“Frankie? That you down there?”
“It’s your father!”
“Shhh. Don’t worry.”
“What’s going on down there?”
“Just me and Mario.”
“What’s that smell?”
“I don’t know.”
“You kids smoking?”
“No.”
“Okay. Guess it’s gone.”
“Mario?”
“What?”
“I think we better take the stuff over to your place. And besides …”
“What?”
“I don’t want to miss ‘Hop Harrigan.’ ”
“MA! HE’S HERE! Ma! It’s Tom!”
“Oh, my God!”
“Ma! Hurry! He’s outside!”
“I’m coming! I’m coming!”
“This the Wattleson residence, kiddo?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Home of Private First Class Thomas Peter Wattleson?”
“Sure is.”
“Where is he? I’m Mrs. Wattleson.”
“He’s right here, ma’am. Doing just fine. We’ve got him right here. You his mother?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Great.”
“Is he all right? What’s the matter? Can’t he walk? Oh, God….”
“Just a moment, ma’am. Hold on. He’s doing great. We’ll give him a hand. Come on, soldier. You made it, pal. You’re home.”
“Hello, Ma. Hi, Frankie.”
“Tom! Oh, Tom!”
“THANKS for letting me have your room, kid.”
“That’s okay.”
“Yeah, buddy, good to be home. You don’t know.”
“But I bet you’d be happier in your own room, wouldn’t you?”
“Don’t worry about it, kiddo. Just glad to be here, that’s all.”
“It’s a lot bigger up there. And the third floor is higher. Better air.”
“This is fine, Frankie. Anyway, Ma said someone was renting my old room.”
“Mr. Swerdlow. Tom, guess what? He’s probably an evil scientist. Or maybe in the rackets.”
“The rackets?”
“I’m beginning to suspect so.”
“Why?”
“Just do.”
“Did you tell Pop?”
“No.”
“How come?”
“I’m still sifting the evidence.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“Tom?”
“What?”
“Do you think the radio will bother you?”
“No. It’s fine. Nice to have it. How you getting on?”
“Okay.”
“You got bigger.”
“I eat a lot of breakfast.”
“How’s Ma doing?”
“Fine.”
“Pop?”
“He’s got two jobs. At the box factory. Then at night, sometimes, with Mr. Giorgi, the plumber.”
“He told me. How’s school?”
“Okay.”
“Ma said you got a new pal who moved in right next door.”
“Yeah. Mario Calvino. He lives right there. We’re in the same class. He’s very scientific. And his father got killed in the war.”
“I heard…. Ma says the only thing you’re interested in is your radio programs. That true?”
“I’m interested in other things.”
“Like What?”
“Heroes. You ever hear of the Lone Ranger?”
“Sure.”
“He’s so swell. Wears a mask….”
“Kiddo, you going to just stare at me all the time?”
“No.”
“Come on, pal. Rest easy.”
“Tom?”
“What?”
“Did it hurt a lot?”
“For a while.”
“Will you be able to walk again?”
“Yeah. Specially with the cane.”
“Then how come you don’t?”
“Not interested in going anywhere.”
“Tom …”
“What?”
“What was it like?”
“What?”
“Getting hit.”
“Frankie, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Was it exciting? Did you get creased? Would you show me the wound? I never saw one.”
“Frankie …”
“Everybody says you’re a hero.”
“Forget it.”
“Would you … Could you tell me about it? What it was like and all. And Mario wants to meet you. And your leg.”
“Don’t think I want to see anyone for a while.”
“You don’t?”
“Later, maybe. Hey, what about school? Still at good old P.S. Eight?”
“Sixth grade.”
“Who’s your teacher?”
“Miss Gomez.”
“Wasn’t there when I was. You like her?”
“She looks like Veronica Lake, but you know what? Lately, she’s been troubled a lot about me. Think you could visit school and tell her not to worry about me so much?”
“Nope.”
“Guess what? Her boyfriend got killed.”
“Oh. You working hard in school?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It’s boring. Tom?”
“What?”
“Can I ask you something really, really personal?”
“Depends.”
“It’s important. Really.”
“Shoot.”
“Who do you like better — Iceman, Captain Midnight, or the Lone Ranger?”
“POP?”
“Frankie, can’t you see your father’s reading the paper?”
“I have to ask him something.”
“He’s tired.”
“That’s okay. What is it, Frankie?”
“It’s about Tom.”
“What about him?”
“Is something the matter with him?”
“You wouldn’t be in so great a mood if your leg got hurt like that.”
“Was he shot anywhere else?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, his head….”
“What the hell you saying?”
“He’s a hero, right?”
“Sure.”
“How come he doesn’t talk like one? And how come he doesn’t want to see anyone?”
“Frankie, do everybody a favor and leave your father alone. And go do your homework.”
“Ma, I’m trying to talk to Pop.”
“You know we got a letter from your school.”
“You did?”
“From your teacher. She said you never do your schoolwork. And that all you do is talk about radio shows. Says she’s tired of making you stay after. And if you keep messing up, she’s going to have to do something drastic.”
“I know, Ma.”
“That all you can say?”
“Pop, did you like school?”
“I never stayed past seventh grade.”
“How come?”
“My folks were hard up. I had to go to work.”
“You were lucky.”
“Think so?”
“I never heard of one hero who went to school. Ever.”
“Frankie, let me tell you something straight. Now listen. You’re lucky to be in school. Think about the kids in France. Or Russia. What kind of schooling they got? So, I’m telling you, if you get into bad trouble in school — long as I’m your father, long as your mother is your mother — no radio. Ever. What do you have to say to that?”
“Real heroes have no parents.”
“FRANKIE, come up to my place. I got to show you something.”
“What?”
“About your uncle’s old radio stuff.”
“You get it working?”
“I’ll show you.”
“Your mother home? I don’t think she’d want to know.”
“She’s doing a late shift. Won’t be home for hours.”
“Okay.”
“FRANKIE, I’ve been looking at this junk from your basement, and you know what? I don’t think it’s a radio.”
“What is it?”
“More like something for getting or sending messages by wire.”
“Oh, wow!”
“Why would your uncle Charley be sending messages?”
“I’m beginning to think he was a brilliant but eccentric scientist.”
“Really?”
“Well, he did disappear. That’s what usually happens to brilliant but eccentric scientists.”
“Think he was evil?”
“Probably works for the government.”
“Where do you think he went?”
“Atop some remote mountain hideaway.”
“Doing what?”
“Inventing something. Like a sleep generator. It puts war criminals into a hypnotic trance, clouds their minds, and makes them confess automatically.”
“Oh, gee!”
“Yeah, he’s smart. Like you. Think you can get any of this stuff to work?”
“That’s what I was trying to say. It sort of does work.”
“It does?”
“Well, see, when I talk into this part, the voice goes out that part.”
“It does?”
“In a way.”
“Show me.”
“Take this — it’s the speaker. Now, trail out that wire into the front room. Go on.”
“Like this?”
“Yeah. Okay. Now put your ear close up to it. Ready? Okay, this is Skipper, calling Chet! Can you hear me, Chet?”
“Hey, swell, Mario, it works! So nifty! The best ever! We’ll run wires from here to my place in the basement. Then I’ll be able to get radio programs down there when you put your radio on up here.”