by Gregg Taylor
“Don't suppose you brought enough to go around?” Joe asked.
“No, but I noticed the cookie jar had been raided,” he said. “How are the exploding bullets?”
“Not bad,” Mac said, “mostly gone.”
The Red Panda reached into his pockets and produced dozens of ammunition clips, which he spread around. “These are the Mark Twos,” he said. “Three times the pop, but be careful with them. Haven't really tested them yet.”
“Oh, good,” Parker deadpanned, grinning anyway.
“There's a weak point in the armor,” the Red Panda continued, “just above the beltline, dead center. One of these rounds should cut the main power coupling if you hit it just so.”
“Shoot 'em in the belly button?” Mac asked seriously.
“Yes,” came the reply. “Go.”
The men raced off towards the battle, confident of victory for the first time. As she moved to join them, the Red Panda caught the Flying Squirrel by the utility belt and pulled her towards him, hard. Kit's heart skipped, uncertain of what was happening, but part of her almost sure that he meant to kiss her, right here and now. She decided not to object.
It took her a moment to realize that he was fumbling with the back of the buckle assembly on her belt, attaching a long pair of wire leads into the central power pack.
“I threw these together in a hurry,” he explained, not noticing his own hands brushing up against her stomach muscles, or the effect this nearness seemed to be having on his partner. “The neural nets are so spread out, its impossible to properly shield them from electrical attack. So one good jolt fries their brains.” He slid a set of metal knuckles onto her left hand and held them up for her to admire. “Don't rely on the Static Shoes in combat, these are drawing power from the propulsion array. And try not to punch anything that you don't want to die.”
She stood motionless for a second, looking up at him as the gunfire started to roar. At last, she blinked.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hello,” he replied.
“You're alive,” she said.
“Well, yes,” he admitted.
“And you brought me something shiny,” she smiled.
“I did, yes,” he said.
“I have to go punch out some robots now. When I'm done, will you tell me all the clever bits twice?” she said, stepping just a little closer to him, just for an instant.
“Yes, Boss,” he beamed.
Twenty-One
Less than an hour later the sleek, black roadster tore through the city streets at breakneck speed. The last of Captain Clockwork's metal men had been vanquished and police had restored the rule of law to the stricken downtown. Their men had returned to cover and early reports from the hospitals suggested that none of their wounded had been permanently damaged. Now it was once again the masked heroes together, but it seemed that situation was not to last long.
“Explain this to me again,” the Flying Squirrel said as she drove, clearly annoyed.
“Which part?” He pretended to be oblivious.
“Which part? You aren't serious!”
“Pull over up here,” he said. “I need to make a telephone call.”
He stepped from the car and into a waiting phone booth, slipped a coin into the slot and dialed a number. There was a whirring sound and a series of clicks, all of which he expected to hear.
“Mother Hen speaking,” came the calm female voice on the other end of the line.
“Can you patch this call through to police headquarters on an untraceable line?” he asked without identifying himself.
“Still alive, are we?” the voice said without surprise.
“We are,” he replied. “We are also in something of a hurry.”
“Do you imagine that I was waiting for a reply?” she chided gently. “Your call is going through now.”
“Good,” he said. “Get injury reports to the lair as soon as you have them. And get off the line.”
“You don't think I snoop, do you?” she said, shocked.
“In fact I do, Nosy Parker,” he smiled. “Get off the line.”
There was a click as the ringing began, and he gave a quick glance around to make certain he was unobserved on the dark street, then cleared his throat to get into character.
“Police Headquarters,” the voice on the other end of the line said.
“Please,” he whispered into the line, “please, connect me to Chief O'Mally.”
“The Chief ain't in,” the voice barked. “There's all-out war downtown, haven't you heard?”
“Please, you have to come quickly,” the Red Panda said meekly. “This is August Fenwick.”
The voice on the other end of the line became interested. “What's that? You have information about August Fenwick?”
“No, I am August Fenwick!” he said in mock fright. “I'm being held prisoner by a madman, he could come back at any moment! Please, I'll give you directions.”
Kit Baxter sat in the car and fumed. It was bad enough that she'd been worried sick and that she'd planned the final battle between good and evil under the assumption that the Red Panda was lost forever. But now not only was he going back to his cell, but he was making her drive him there. This did not sit well with the Flying Squirrel.
A few moments later he got back in the car, all smiles. He raised an eyebrow as she looked at him darkly.
“What?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.
“You're just gonna waltz back in there and count on O'Mally to come to your rescue?” she said in disbelief, throwing the car back into gear.
“I don't think I have a great deal of choice,” he said, amused. “After tonight's open warfare in the streets, I can't imagine that O'Mally will have the slightest difficulty getting the warrants he's been after to raid the mansion and search it top to bottom.”
“Which would mean bye-bye to August Fenwick and Kit Baxter,” she said grudgingly getting his drift.
“In a nutshell,” he said, removing his mask. “It would either mean staying undercover all the time or starting a new life somewhere else.” He pulled off his gloves and stowed them in the compartment beside his seat.
“Did you just offer to take me away from all of this?” Kit smirked. “'Cause if you ain't careful, one day I just might say yes.”
There was a small pause. He threw his hat into the back seat. “Where would you want to go?” he asked.
Her heart skipped a beat, but Kit resisted the urge to bounce in her seat. “Are you askin' me?” she said wryly.
“Well… not exactly,” he was blinking first.
“Then I ain't exactly telling,” she said, returning her full attention to the road as they raced along. This was still a stupid plan, but she felt mollified by the game.
“Well, if all goes well, you can tell me at breakfast,” the Red Panda said.
“You're awfully sure of yourself, aren't you?” she gasped, pretending to be scandalized.
“What's that?” he said, lost for a moment. “I didn't mean… I just meant that if all goes well, my rescue should be complete by morning.” He cleared his throat. “The police will probably wonder why you acted as you did, but perhaps I can persuade O'Mally not to wonder all that hard.”
“Like by maybe not suing his department for libel?” she offered.
“Yes, like that,” he grinned, slipping off his trench coat and jacket. “Think O'Mally will notice that I'm wearing different trousers than I was when I was taken from the Club Macaw?”
“Say what you want about O'Mally,” she said, “but he doesn't strike me as the type to pay a lot of attention to men's trousers.”
August Fenwick laughed as he removed the bright red necktie and completed his transformation back to captured ne'er-do-well. “I hope you're right. After the attention of the last few days, August Fenwick needs to be completely exonerated, and that means a convincing rescue by police. Which means that we should probably beat them there.”
She raised an eyebrow. “
Did you just say you want to go faster, effendi? Your wish is my command,” and with that she stomped on the accelerator and the mighty car lurched forward at terrifying speed.
“So what happens if you run into any more tin soldiers?” she asked.
“I deal with them,” he replied. “I got out barehanded, why should getting back in be more difficult? Besides, I don't get the impression that he has many soldiers left.”
“So we're done?” she asked hopefully.
“Not by a long shot.” He shook his head. “Remember, these attacks by Captain Clockwork's army are just diversions for his real plan.”
“The Viper's plan?” she offered.
“I'm trying to stick with Captain Clockwork,” Fenwick grinned. “It seems to annoy him.”
“That's tough, but fair,” she agreed. “But you know what I mean.”
“I do, yes.”
“Then shut up,” she said sweetly.
“Ah. Touché,” he nodded. “We know now what his real goal is, and nothing short of his total defeat will stop him from trying again. Only by ending Clockwork's master plan can we stop these senseless attacks on the city.”
She frowned. “You think he's still got the muscle to pull it off?”
He looked at her as she drove, the lights of the city flashing by her window so quickly they seemed to resolve themselves into a glow that surrounded her. “I find it difficult to believe that a fiend as brilliant as Captain Clockwork would put all of his eggs in one basket.”
“You don't think busting up his army and swiping his secret headquarters will stop him?” the Squirrel asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.
“Would it stop us?” he offered.
“I object to the comparison, but concede the point,” she said helpfully. “So he's got more soldiers somewhere? Maybe just waiting to be activated? And a backup treehouse to boot?”
“I'd be astonished if he didn't,” came the reply.
They were silent for a moment as the car raced through the darkened streets.
“So what was all that for?” she said, mildly disgruntled.
“You saved a lot of lives tonight,” he said.
“Yes I did,” she said, pleased that he had noticed.
“And then I saved yours,” he added.
“I had everything under control,” she insisted, “but you did look pretty helping.”
The car rolled to a halt beside the large sewer drain from which he had emerged only a few hours earlier. “Kit Baxter,” he scolded, “behave yourself.”
“Yes, Boss,” she said.
Twenty-Two
“Well, Mister Fenwick,” Chief O'Mally growled, “it all seems in order. I must say I'm relieved. If you had been responsible for all of this, I'd have hated to have misjudged a man as badly as I did you.”
The Red Panda tried not to smile at this. It was fairly clear that the Chief was being sincere, and just as obvious that he meant something slightly different than Fenwick was meant to think. The idea that August Fenwick could secretly be some sort of genius ran completely contrary to O'Mally's impressions, and perhaps that was why he was so quick to accept the wealthy young man's version of events. A little hypnosis never hurt either.
“Well, thank you, O'Mally,” Fenwick said, “that's awfully decent of you to say.”
The Red Panda stood up from the bunk in his cell where he had been discovered by police when they arrived to raid the complex almost an hour earlier. He had since then related every word of Captain Clockwork's tirades to the Chief of Police and his closest officers, in precise detail. Each of the senior men had seemed relieved that Fenwick was as thankful as he was to be rescued, and hoped he would feel the same way when he read what had been said about him in the press for the last several days. They congratulated Fenwick on his bravery in order to foster the charitable perspective they desired. August Fenwick turned away the compliments with a modest wave of his hand.
“Not a piece of it, gentlemen,” he said. “I have no doubt that the fiend intended to finish me off down here one way or another. If it were not for the timely arrival of your men, I shudder to think what might have happened.”
This pleased the officers greatly, and they began to disperse somewhat. O'Mally waved Fenwick towards the cell door. “And now, sir,” he said, “if we might prevail upon you a little longer, I have some men studying the control complex. Perhaps you could shed some light on that?”
“I should be glad to, if I am able,” Fenwick said, walking into the hallway with the Chief.
“My word, Fenwick!” O'Mally cried when they stepped into the more brightly lit space. “Those are some nasty marks you have.”
Fenwick smiled, as if embarrassed at the few of his many contusions from the evening's brawl on Yonge Street that the Chief could see. “Yes,” he said, “when the mechanical men caught me calling you, they did put things a little roughly. Next thing I knew I was back in my cell. I did what I could, of course, but the beastly things are deuced strong.” The Red Panda wondered if he might not be laying on the wealthy prat routine a bit thick, but the whole business was a little more manly than his alter ego generally went in for and he felt the need to compensate.
“Of course,” O'Mally said, with an expression that told the Red Panda that his rouse had worked perfectly. “And if I might say, sir, when you see Miss Baxter next, if you could mention to her that the police tend to frown upon leaving the scene, I'd be grateful.”
Kit had been right, the police were so cordial in advance of his reaction to the tarring and feathering he had received in his absence that they were going to smooth the whole business over themselves. Still, he thought, best to be careful.
“I'll mention it to her, O'Mally, but I can't believe she knew anything was happening. The girl does like to play the radio when I'm not in the car, you know,” he said absent-mindedly.
“Then where has she been all this time?” O'Mally was disgruntled, and the cop in him wasn't quite ready to let it go after all.
“Did you check her mother's?” Fenwick said in his best air of unconcern.
“Did we…,” the Chief stopped himself before he rolled into a tirade. “Yes, Mister Fenwick, the thought did occur.”
“Ah well,” he replied.
“Got a boyfriend, does she?” O'Mally asked, still trying to find an excuse to drop the whole thing.
Fenwick felt his ears turn red and he blinked in surprise as he walked. “No, I don't believe she does,” he said.
O'Mally snorted. “Girl like that? Why wouldn't she have? Or three or four? Why in my day we'd have lined up around the block to have her ignore us as we walked by.”
The explanation was very convenient, but August Fenwick was having none of it. “I hardly like to speculate, Chief, but I believe you're on the wrong track.” Something about this set his teeth on edge and he hadn't quite worked out that it was the proximity of the words Kit and boyfriend.
“Well, someone is going to ask,” the Chief said as they walked into the great central chamber. “Would be nice if I had a simple explanation for the press.”
“Now see here, O'Mally,” Fenwick seemed quite suddenly to lose his temper. “I have the general impression that some things have been said in the press in the last few days that another man might choose to be angry over. Very angry indeed. I know you and I know you meant well, by the city if not by me, and that is what matters.” It seemed to Chief O'Mally that August Fenwick grew quite a bit taller as he spoke. “But Miss Baxter is a good girl and I will not have you suggesting otherwise in the name of playing cozy with the press. You keep my staff out of this, you understand?”
Both men stood still for a moment, and it was hard to say which of them was more surprised at the outburst. The Red Panda thought very quickly to make certain that he had not revealed any knowledge of events he should not have just yet, and thought perhaps he got away with that one. After a few seconds, O'Mally just nodded and turned into the room. It was damned peculiar, bu
t Fenwick could easily have his job over several quotes that he had given the papers. Besides, O'Mally was fond of Kit Baxter, and didn't wish to make any trouble for the girl if he could help it.
“Well, here it is,” he said. “Tunnels up here lead all over the city. We'll be days working it all out. Found a chamber over there with a few unfinished models, but no real workshop has presented itself yet.”
“I can't help you there, Chief,” Fenwick said. “I was in this room twice, and after that only in my cell. I hear there was some fracas in the streets tonight. Perhaps you finished the mechanical men off.”
“Yes, well,” the Chief cleared his throat but did not admit the minor role his force had played in the rout of Clockwork's troops tonight. “My concern is that if we don't find the place where they were built, there may soon be more.”
“I suppose you're right,” Fenwick said seriously.
“Still, thanks to you, sir, at least now we know that Captain Clockwork and the Viper are one and the same,” O'Mally said as the two men ascended the stairs and approached the controls, “and we have some idea of his plan.”
“And very little idea of where he might strike next,” Fenwick said. “Oh, let me see…” He pretended to be confused by the controls for a moment, then found the switch for the lights that illuminated the blueprints he had used to find two fatal weaknesses in the robotic killers. “There we are. Blueprints.”
There was a brief murmur among the assembled experts. O'Mally peered at the plans and nodded. “Yes, well,” he said, “we'll bring them along of course. Can't imagine we'll learn much of practical value from those.”
“No,” the Red Panda agreed. “I can't imagine that you will.”
“About this surveillance system you mentioned…”
“Yes, of course.” Fenwick worked the controls of the tele-vision device until the police experts appeared to have the hang of it. “Clever little gadget, isn't it? No idea how it works.”