“Do it kid!” Lenny pulled a ten and another dollar out of his wallet as the elevator car shot down the shaft. He actually felt lighter, the bell doing an almost continuous dinging.
The kid slowed the elevator as it got closer to the ground, and gravity reasserted itself. With a final ding, he stopped the lift and opened the door. “Here you are, gentlemen. I took the liberty of stopping on the second floor so you can avoid the security on the main. Just turn left after you exit the lift, and you will see the stairway exit. It will take you out into the alley and away from the building.”
Lenny grinned and pulled out his wallet. He pulled another ten-spot out, adding it to the existing bills. “Thanks, kid. I owe you one.”
The young man took the bills and smiled. “Pleasure doing business with you fine gentlemen.” He stepped out of the elevator with them. “I believe this lift might be out of order for the rest of the day.” He pulled the doors shut and slapped up an ‘Out of Order’ sign. He waved at the two men. “You go on ahead. I’ll come down shortly.”
Lenny and Squiggy wasted no time leaving the building. Lenny cautiously poked his head out the door. The alley was deserted, but he could hear the shrill whistles of the police from one direction.
“Come on, Squiggy. Let’s get out of here.” He purposely walked away from the lights, Squiggy right behind him. “We’d better find a quiet place to call the boss to let him know Mister Y never showed.”
Ten
Felonious stood at the lab controls looking at the video image being fed from his robot battle machine. The chewing gum patch over the oil-dispensing unit remained intact, and the machine was working. So far.
The weapon’s targeting system was another story altogether. Scorch marks covered the far wall from weapons that completely missed the thrown targets.
He tweaked the targeting system again. “Throw another pigeon into the air, Bennington. I think I might have the problem fixed.”
“As you wish, my lord,” Bennington replied. He opened the door to the cage and pulled out another of the captive pigeons. “I must reiterate, my lord. When sportsmen talk about shooting pigeons, they usually are referring to the clay variety.”
Felonious shrugged. “There are too many of the real kind messing up the estate. These will do quite nicely.” He pressed a button and crosshairs appeared on the screen. “Go ahead and release the bird!”
Bennington threw the pigeon up into the air. The robot’s head turned, tracking the motion and a brilliant beam of red energy flared from one of the arms. The beam failed to as much as singe a single feather on the bird, which flew up into the rafters to join its cooing brethren. The far wall acquired a brand new carbon spot where the beam struck.
To add insult to injury, the bird did what pigeons were known for and deposited a warm white blob on the head of the robot.
“Drat!” Felonious fumed. “I was sure I had the targeting working that time. What is wrong with this— Bollox! Now what?” He turned to the sound of a hooting klaxon.
“I believe that is your external communication device, my lord,” Bennington said.
“Ah yes. But who could possibly be calling me here?”
“As the only ones to have a communication unit capable of calling you, I believe it must be your two, ahem, henchmen. A Mr. Lenny and a Mr. Squiggy, if I may be so bold.”
“Excellent deduction, Bennington,” Felonious congratulated his butler. “Now, be a good chap and engage the answering portion of the device.”
“As you wish, my lord.” Bennington crept across the laboratory and activated the communicator.
“This is Lenny calling the boss. Please respond, Boss.”
“This is Felonious. Report, minion!”
“Hello, Boss. We went to the zeppelin docks like you said and watched for Mister Y. He didn’t show.” The words were punctuated with static and loud hisses or distortion.
“I beg your pardon? I don’t believe I heard you correctly,” Felonious said. “Did you say the agent I sent you to meet did not arrive? Was his airship delayed? Did you find the right airship?”
“You heard me, Boss. We checked with the airship crew. They said the ship was from England, like you said. They told us it was the only afternoon arrival.”
Felonious frowned. “Are you fools certain you did not miss him?”
The static increased, making Lenny’s next words unintelligible.
“Repeat that, minion! I did not understand anything you said.”
“I said, we were there when the ship arrived, Boss. No one matching the description you gave came off. We searched the ship too. No one.”
“Very well. I will investigate that further. For now, I need you to pick up another shipment of explosives. Go to the regular place in the Furniture District.”
“Whatever you say, Boss. We will take the spyder and get what you need.” There was a pause, the sound of muffled conversation then Lenny spoke again. “You’re right Squiggy. Boss, we saw a guy and a dame at the zeppelin deck.”
“Imagine that,” Felonious said sarcastically. “A man and a woman, together on the zeppelin deck of the Waldorf Building. Whatever might you see next? Perhaps birds flying in the air?”
“Aw, Boss, don’t be like that,” Lenny said, static punctuating his words. “What I mean is, Squiggy and I have been seeing them all day. The same pair.”
“Do you think they are following you?”
“We don’t know, Boss. Could be.”
Felonious stared at Bennington. “I wonder if we have found our spies?”
“I am sure I don’t know, my lord.”
He turned back to the communicator. “Very well, minions. If you see them again, I want you to follow them and find out what they are up to.”
“Will do, Boss,” Lenny replied. “Do you have any other orders before we go, Boss?”
“No, that will be all for now.” Felonious flipped off the communication device with an exaggerated wave of his arm. He sat and cupped his chin in his hand. “How very interesting. I believe I may have to meet those two.”
Eleven
Bennington sat at the small reading desk in his sparsely furnished bedroom, deep in thought. Young Felonious was rapidly getting himself embroiled in more than he bargained for. Destroying the Statue of Liberty incognito was one thing, but now he seemed to be attracting the wrong kind of attention. That sort of thing could expose everything Bennington had worked so hard on.
No, steps needed to be taken. It was time to pull in some of the ‘resources’ Her Majesty had offered him.
He unfolded the small screen of his M.A.C.—monitor, analyze, and computational—device from the back of his desk. The device lit up as it was raised to viewing height.
He touched an icon on the display. The image changed to reveal the back of a man looking out a window. Bennington cleared his throat.
The sound must have transferred through the connection because the man stiffened and turned around. His expression changed from one of fear to confusion.
“Who…who are you?” His voice held some of the lilt of the British Isle.
“My name is Bennington Bartholomew Bentley the XVIth. I believe you were informed I might be paying you a call?”
The man smiled. “Ah, yes! Mr. Bentley. I was indeed told you might be calling. How may I be of service?”
Bennington leaned closer to the M.A.C. “I believe you have a squad of men who have the ability to be…discrete?”
“Discrete?” The man considered the request. “Ah, yes, discrete. I do indeed. They have trained with the finest—”
“Fine, fine,” Bennington said, interrupting the man. “I apologize for my rudeness, sir, but time is of the essence. I must have those men out in the field immediately if we are to stave off disaster.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” the man said, a frown creasing his brow. “I do get carried away sometimes. But I digress. Where would you like my discrete gentlemen sent, and what are they to do?”
&nb
sp; “Two of my operatives…” Bennington tried not to wince at the word, “are being followed by a man and a woman. It is imperative the man and woman be stopped.”
“Where are this man and woman currently?”
“That is the thing,” Bennington said. “I do not know their exact whereabouts. That is why I require the skills of your people. Information gathering, stealth, discretion… I am hoping they can find and remove the pair before things take a wrong turn.”
“Very good, sir,” the man said. “If you would be so kind as to provide me with an address where my men can find and follow your operatives, I am sure we can deal with the troublesome man and woman should they turn up again.”
“Excellent,” Bennington said. “My operatives should be on their way to Dunn and Over Explosives Emporium. I expect they will arrive very soon.”
“My men will be there, sir.”
“How, may I ask, am I to know your men should I see one?” Bennington asked.
“Well, that’s the thing, sir. You shouldn’t see them at all. However, they do dress the same and wear masks decorated to match the Union Jack. Oh yes, and they carry silver-tipped canes.”
“How extraordinary,” Bennington said. “Thank you very much for your help. Contact me if you run into any difficulties.”
“Goodbye, sir,” the man said.
His image disappeared from the screen as Bennington touched another button.
~ * ~
“How are we going to find the correct shipment, Betsy?”
They had taken way too long to eat their lunch. Jack stuffed his food into his mouth and could barely even remember what he ordered whereas Betsy carefully cut her food up into tiny bites and savored each morsel. Even the maître d’ seemed to be conspiring against Jack by taking an interminably long time to return with the check. He thought he would go mad. At last they left the restaurant.
“Jack, honestly. I told you a dozen times. I know people who can help us, and I did get up and glance out the window, while you wolfed your food down like a common cur, to make sure the zeppelin hadn’t been unloaded. I assure you we’ll find the shipment and follow it. Trust me.”
Trust was never an issue when it came to Betsy, but when it came to people blowing things up, trust wasn’t the point. It was all about timing. They had to be there before anyone would have a chance to even think about trying to blow up the shipment of piano wire.
Jack put his hand inside his rubbery coat and ran his fingers over the metal of the mask. Jack Kane might not be able to frighten someone away from committing a crime, but a masked avenger might. He just needed to—.
“Get your hand out of your coat. I don’t know what you’re thinking about doing, but let’s keep a level head about this. If you go stomping around frightening people, and the ones we want to catch are here, you’ll only scare them off too.”
“Of course.” She may be right, but he’d rather be stomping around rather than waiting for something else to happen.
He pulled the tracking cube from his pocket. It was a leather-covered, iron cube with a thumb wheel gear to adjust the pitch of the device’s sound. If the two big men he’d seen waiting for someone to come off the zeppelin were anywhere nearby, he was certain they’d be up to no good. Perhaps they were here and waiting as well.
He flipped a switch on the top of the device and stared at the box. A green glow emanated from a round window next to the switch, but there was no noise. He shook the box and tapped it on the side a couple of times, but still no sound.
“Jack, put that away. We’ve business to take care of.”
As he returned the box to his pocket, Betsy flailed her arm about attempting to get someone’s attention. The area she led him to was the open basement of the building. Pulleys, winches, lifts, elevators, trucks, trolleys, and more people than Jack thought possible moved freight from one spot to another in a finely choreographed dance. Just as quickly as one load disappeared, another would appear.
As she continued to wave her arm about, he watched the faces of the men to see who would look their way and approach them. Several men whistled at her, but a man in filthy black coveralls, and an equally dirty conductor’s hat, smiled a gap-toothed smile and waved back.
“Who’s that?”
“That’s the man who’s going to help us.”
Jack sighed. “I figured that part. I mean, who is he?”
“His name is Reginald Ringford, and he’s the Freight Coordinator of the Waldorf Building. He’s the man who knows where each of these shipments is coming from and where it’s going. Nothing comes in or out of this building without his knowledge. All we have to do is ask him where the shipment for Sohmer and Company is, get on that transport, and we’ll be on our way. Easy as pie.”
Jack made pie before. It was a disaster. He hoped Betsy’s experience had been far different.
“’Allo, Betsy. How’s your father? I don’t see him too often anymore what with him being down at the docks and busier than a one legged man at a—”
“Good day, Reginald.” She held her hand out for him to take. “My father is doing well. Busy as all get out, as I’m sure you can imagine.”
“Oh aye, busy indeed. If he’s got half the work I’ve got here, he’s up to his eyeballs in alligators, and I tell you I’ve got enough work to keep a gang of—”
“I was wondering if you could help me locate a shipment? It is being delivered to Sohmer and Company.”
“Oh aye, I can help, but first you need to introduce me to your fellow here.”
Betsy looked from Reginald to Jack and back again. “Reginald, this is Mr. Jack Kane.”
“Oh aye, I’ve heard of you. Didn’t you used to work for Betsy’s father at the docks? Ran into a bit of bad luck, as I heard tell of it, and cost you your job. Call me Reggie. Only Ms. Wilkes here calls me Reginald. She likes to be all formal what-not. I don’t stand on no pomp and circumstance between a good old boy. Good to meet you, it is. Good to meet you, indeed.”
Jack tried to say something but between Reggie’s non-stop talk and the volume of his voice, likely due to the extreme noise in the basement, he hadn’t gotten a chance. He had gotten a good smell of the fellow and would be more than happy to be anywhere else.
“Oh aye, that shipment. Sure thing. For the Sohmer and Company folks? I know the one you’re looking for. Just came down the lift. It’s getting loaded on a crawler over here. Come along. I know the driver. I’ll let him know you’ll be catching a ride. Good fellow. His father owns the pub over on 35th. Great place to grab a brew. Your father and I used to have a pint or two from time to time before I left the docks for good. You’ll have to be sure and tell him I said we need to get us a pint and catch up, we will.”
Thankfully, Reggie stopped talking then and led them across the maze of the basement floor and to the crawler carrying the shipment of piano wire. When he thought Betsy wasn’t looking, Jack took out the cube. He clicked the wheel and held it next to his ear. It was difficult to hear anything beyond the din of the crew and lifts and vehicles and Reggie shouting orders every step of the way and continuing to talk to Betsy throughout. Jack pocketed the cube.
“Thank you, Reginald. I’ll let my father know to contact you.”
In no time they were on the back of the crawler and headed out of the building and down the street.
Reggie waved, and the smile never left his face. With a nudge of Betsy’s elbow, Jack raised his hand in the air and waved as well.
“I told you I would get us connected with this shipment.” Betsy’s smug smile worried Jack.
The crawler bumped and jostled down the road. It was designed for loads considered mostly indestructible due to the constant bumping and shaking, to say nothing of the smoke that belched from the exhaust ports on either side of the bed where Jack and Betsy were. He had difficulty keeping his footing and nearly fell several times whereas she was as comfortable as a jockey on an old nag that could barely walk.
“Y-y-yes you d-d-
did. Thank y-y-ou.”
“Relax. You need to let your legs go with the flow and rhythm. It’s almost like standing in the incoming tide on Coney Island. You’re too busy trying to anticipate each movement instead of relaxing and going with it. Just pretend you’re dancing.”
He had never danced, let alone gone to Coney Island to stand in the tide. He decided, after the umpteenth time banging his knees against the side, he’d sit. Motion sickness had all but overtaken him, and the last thing he wanted was to arrive at Sohmer and Company feeling ill while trying to ask questions.
“Take this.” She handed him something could have been a butterscotch candy.
He wasn’t in the mood to argue; the longer they stayed on the crawler the more he wanted to jump off. He unwrapped the candy and popped it in to his mouth then nearly spit it out straightaway.
A hand clapped over his lips. “Just you keep that in there. I can see you turning green, and this will help. It’s a ginger candy. You need to trust me on this one.”
Again, she asked him to trust her. It was as if she wanted Jack to believe everything she said: from eating a candy will stop his motion sickness to the British are plotting something against America. All along she’d been telling him this was not a plot to do in the piano industry. Had she been trying to get him to deviate away from his path? Was asking for him to trust her a way to get him to change his mind about something else?
No, he had known her far too long. She’d never do anything like that. It was her infernal fascination with the British that keep her brain going in that direction. Everywhere she looked there was another British conspiracy. He knew he was on the right track about the British trying to destroy the piano industry. It couldn’t be anything else.
Jack pulled her hand away from his mouth. The candy did make him feel far better, but not enough he felt he might attempt standing again. “Thank you, Betsy.”
“All better?” She wiped her palm on Jack’s pants.
“Almost.” His stomach had stopped doing loops at least.
“Good, because we’re here.”
Jack Kane and the Statue of Liberty Page 12