The tiny room beyond the cage door was tightly occupied by ten young women. They looked up at him in panic, their eyes filled with tears, their faces obscured by grime. Rags hung off their bodies. Lash realized that they sat in their own filth.
They were the real victims. The monster’s brides. A treasure to be toted back to the land of the sun in the mouth of the dragon.
Bullets abruptly splattered against the wall and the door itself. He flung himself up over the top of the couch that sat nearby and fired back. Another cry of pain sprang out of the steam.
But the steam was clearing. He had to do something or he and the girls were done for.
Lynn Lash weighed the odds and decided to go for broke. Al Cord, a gambling man, would have been proud of him.
He pounced to his feet and sprang over the couch, squeezing off shots. Anyone at Police Headquarters who knew him as a well dressed, well educated genius, a scientific consultant and bon homme would be hard pressed to recognize him at that moment. He charged ahead to save the girls. That was all that mattered.
Bullets are not self-replenishing items. A pistol holds only so many. Lash was fortunate enough to have come across a fully loaded automatic, but as the laws of mass and space must be adhered to his pistol finally came up empty.
With bodies strewn all around him, Lash looked up through the clearing steam to see that he had locked eyes with the wily leader.
The man was preparing to depart the underground realm, one leg in his dragon boat and bright, prickling fury etched across his face.
“Lynn Lash,” said the man, mangling the name. “Unexpected. Very unexpected. And we had gone to much trouble to curb your interference. My ruses, my one-of-a-kind dragon, my hired thugs…”
“Step out of that submarine,” countered the detective tersely. “You’ll be taken in and made to pay for your crimes. I don’t care what country you’re from – you’ll pay.”
The foreign man spat out a curse, vile and sharp. He leapt down into his craft and pulled the hatch shut behind him.
Lash ran forward, his eyes running up and down the length of the metal monster. He had already heard the soft sound of engines from it previously, but he sought out any signs of the disturbance in the water they’d surely cause…
All at once, the gigantic artificial dinosaur lurched forward and began to sink into the water, its monstrous head swiveling around on its loathsome neck. Then, it too plunged into the waterway, leaving bubbles in its wake.
The detective ran over to one end of the platform, stumbling over objects in his headlong path to something he’d spied earlier. Reaching a doorway that was covered by a multitude of bead-covered strands hung from a rod across its top, Lash gripped several of the strands and ripped them away.
Turning back to the water, he sprinted at full throttle to catch a monster.
The thing was almost gone, submerged under the cold water that had brought Lynn Lash to the men’s secret lair.
Running along the edge of the platform he twirled the beads like a lasso and flung them at the hindquarters of the beast-ship. They clinked against the thing’s metal hide and then slipped off it and into the water.
Lash prayed his aim was true.
A surfeit of bubbles rose up out of the water and a grinding sound accompanied them. A direct hit! He pictured the scene in his mind: the beaded strands falling into the submersible’s propellers and jamming up the whole works.
But for how long?
Taking one long last look, Lash saw that the monster continued to dive, heading for the open river. But slowly. It might not even make it through the tunnel, he surmised. If not, its pilot could be stuck there, permanently.
He didn’t wait around to find out.
Lash smashed the lock on the girls’ cell with a large block of stone and assured them that they were now safe. He apologized for his regrettable hurry but swore to them that he would be ascending to the surface and bringing rescuers back with him. And that the men who had hurt them were now dead.
As he sped through the dark tunnels that spread out from the subway platform, Lash began to triangulate his whereabouts. Figuring for his original location out on the river and how far inland he guessed he had traveled, the detective ran the numbers in his head and figured he was nearing the IRT line, most likely near the station at Ninth and West 34th…
Several minutes later he broke through into a much saner world and immediately flagged down a policeman. Identifying himself and urging the officer to call in a team to recover the young girls, he made his apologies and ran off toward the Hudson River.
Out of breath, Lash soon arrived at the docks where his wild evening had begun and ran into Al Cord, literally.
“Lash!” exclaimed the reporter, not believing his own eyes. “I—I thought you were a goner when—when that thing hit your boat! What…how…who…how…?”
“Al! Al!” shouted the detective. “Tell me you have a police boat out on the river looking for me! Tell me you’re that smart!”
“Sure, sure – we have ‘em out there now, but I can call ‘em in if—“
Lynn Lash bodily moved his friend aside, peering out onto the river.
“We need some spotlights – there, there and there!” He indicated targets on the water and near the shore.
“Have everybody looking for the monster!”
*****
After a hasty radio call, great beams of light split the darkness, emanating from the police craft that had patrolled the river looking for the living Sherlock Holmes.
The man himself, safe on shore, tried to give a brief accounting of his adventures to Al Cord of the Times-Dispatch. Of course, it wasn’t enough for the veteran newshound.
“It’s a what?” sang Cord.
“A very clever submarine,” replied Lash and then named the country that produced it. “To sow confusion and terror. To distract attention away from the real crime, the abduction of the young women.”
The reporter whistled and pushed back his hat. “No one will believe it…”
“They’ll have to, Al, when they learn of its victims and—wait! There!”
Everyone looked sharp, following Lash’s index finger to a spot out on the Hudson. Searchlights swung around to illuminate the area.
Something broke the water there. It was a dark, smooth hump moving lazily along.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” swore Al Cord.
Lynn Lash shook his head, grimaced. “Not yet. You haven’t seen everything. Wait for it.”
The reporter expressed his confusion.
“Something I saw when I went under out there,” said Lash. “And something the leader said to me.”
Another hump appeared on the water, breaking the surface with a spray. It came from the opposite direction of the first. And faster.
Several sets of eyes watched as a great plume of water rose up from the river as the two shapes collided. Sounds of crashing and grinding came to their ears as they witnessed what they could only describe later as a battle…or a massacre. Finally, shards of metal and patches of dark oil could be seen floating on the water and a smooth black hump moving away from them and disappearing under the waves, heading north.
Al Cord looked over at Lash, his eyes still questioning the man.
“Well,” breathed the detective, “looks like the local fauna doesn’t seem to care much for the outside competition.”
END
MYSTERY OF THE FLAMING MEN
by Tim Lasiuta
Chapter One
Flames of Warning
Rickey Dean heard the screams of the burning man before he entered Lynn Lash’s office.
He yelled in agonizing pain as he burst into the office, waving his arms in a desperate attempt to put himself out. A stylish fedora flew behind him, falling to the floor, wisps of smoke curling from its brim.
Rickey, Lynn Lash’s secretary, looked on with horror at the man as he ran toward her. “Lash! Lash!” she screamed.
The
flaming man screamed in pain. His clothing, once a stylish steel grey suit from one of New York’s finest clothiers, melted on the mans’ body. Cotton fibers darkened as the flames licked upward and outward from his body. His face began to melt away.
“Lash! Help!”
Lynn Lash looked up from his research, oblivious to the world around him as the sound of roaring dynamos screamed noisily. He focused on the moving gages in front of him. Rickey’s shrill scream broke through in a moment of relative silence, penetrating his intense concentration. He jerked to attention. He dropped the meters on the table and vaulted over the bench as easily as an Olympic athlete. Landing gently, he ran into the office in time to see the flaming man reach out for his secretary.
“Leave her alone!” Lash shouted. With a leap, he grabbed the man’s legs and pulled him down, ignoring his own safety. Lash looked over to Rickey, whom he motioned toward the fire extinguisher wordlessly.
She ran to the wall, took the hammer and broke the glass. Grabbing the metal tube, she shook it and pulled the pin, spraying the man until the last flame was out.
Lash stood up and wiped foam from his face. “Next time they call for a volunteer fire fighter, I’m putting your name in, Rickey.”
Rickey put the spent extinguisher down and sat on the desk edge. Lash knelt down beside the bubbling man, and turned him over. The burnt man moaned.
“Why did you come here?” Lash asked.
The man gurgled. He tried to speak. Lash put his ear closer to his mouth.
“Stop…research…stop…” The man’s head relaxed, and he breathed his last.
Lash looked up at Rickey, and frowned. “Stop my research?”
Rickey looked at Lynn. “I’ll call the police and let them know what happened, Lynn.”
While Rickey phoned, Lynn prepared to examine the man’s body. Pulling out a magnifying glass and scissors he retrieved from his lab, he cut cloth from the cuff of the now burnt jacket and took some hair samples. Putting the clippings into glass tubes, he turned his attention to the man’s fingers.
Off the phone, Rickey watched Lash at work and smiled. “So, what does the corpse tell us?”
Lynn looked up. “Well, firstly, no fingerprints. Not sure if the fire burnt them off, or they were gone to begin with. “
Rickey went back to her desk and looked at the top. “Lynn, what about his hat? It flew off when he burst into the room. Maybe there’s some kind of tag on it, or a name?”
Lynn stood, crossed to where the hat lay, and bent to pick it up. Still darkened by soot, it smoked slightly. A burnt label inside showed promise of some clue to the owner. “Aha,' Lynn said, "there’s a reason you are so handy. But, it just so happens we have another clue. In his back pocket he also had some kind of paper. Not sure if I can reconstruct it though. We should have a few minutes before the police arrive. Their speed certainly leaves something to be desired.”
Lynn carefully cut the label off the hat, and then the pocket off the man’s pants, taking the pieces of burnt paper out. He studied them as he walked out of the office back into his territory. He laid the items on his lab table, filled with electrical equipment.
“Can you hand me the vinegar, Rickey? It’s over to the left of the hydrochloric acid. And I think I’ll need the black light and my black light goggles.”
Hearing him ask for help, Rickey walked in from her office. Finding what he requested, she gave the vinegar to Lash and waited while he applied it. Lash moved to the windowsill to remove a lemon from the iced tea he was making. Squeezing it onto the label, he applied the black light and waited.
Writing glowed back at him.
“Size 8...wow. Would never have guessed.”
Rickey whistled.
“Let’s try the paper,” Lynn suggested.
Lynn carefully assembled the paper into a roughly coherent square. Turning on the black light yielded nothing of value. He turned to the big cupboard filled with lamps and goggles, returning with an infrared lamp and plugging it in.
Outside, the sound of footsteps echoed through the hallway. Lynn motioned Rickey to the door and gazed at the burnt paper.
As Rickey entered the office, the police came through the door and looked at the body on the floor.
“Lash here, Rickey?” the detective in the lead asked.
Lynn looked over toward the door. “In here, Casey. Just looking at some evidence, I hope.”
Casey and his men stepped over the body and entered the lab.
Lash looked carefully at the ashes, and finally turned the light off and pulled his goggles to the top of his head.
“Anything, Lynn?” Casey asked.
Lynn shook his head. “Nothing I can make out,” he said. “Can you boys move the body into the lab?”
Casey shook his head. "The photogs just got here and are still shooting stills. In a few minutes though, we have to gather what we can first.”
The flash of lights and snapping of pictures filled the office. Small snippets of light radiated through the plexi lab windows casting weird shadows on the wall. Two detectives tried to move the body, but were overcome with nausea. They motioned Lash over to the body.
Casey covered his nose and looked over at Lash. “Look at him here, one move is all my guys can take,” said Casey through his handkerchief.
Lash walked over to the light switch and slid a knob down. The curtains whirred and closed, darkening the room. A second switch dimmed the lights. Minutes later, Lash and his observers were bathed in darkness in the office while infrared, black, and mercury light covered the body. A quiet Lynn Lash turned the lights on.
“Well," Lash said finally, "nothing that I can find tells me where the fire started, or even how."
“Can we call the ambulance now? “ Casey asked.
“Sure,” Lash replied. “Thanks, gentlemen. You're all a credit to the force. ”
As Casey and the police officers left Lash’s office, Rickey stood at the doorway to the lab and tapped her feet. “No clues. Really?“
Lash nodded. “No immediate clues…. but we aren’t done yet. Have you called the building super to find out how many people saw the flaming man? We need to know where he came from, anything that might help us identify him.”
Chapter Two
Arcane Research and Death Threats
The headlines of the Daily Gazette loomed large.
“Burning Man Dies in Science Detective’s Lab.”
Lynn Lash, sitting at police headquarters, read the article carefully. After putting the paper down, he looked over to Detective Casey. “Well, they got the facts pretty much right. I do wonder though, how they came up with a name for the dead man?”
Casey looked over. “They did? I thought there was nothing on ‘im?”
Lash stood up and gave the paper to the detective and started to leave the office. “No, there was nothing. So, it’s time I made a visit to the newspaper. What was the name of the flaming man, Detective?”
“Holt,” Casey answered, finding the name in the paper. “Yup, Roger Holt.”
Lash picked up his hat off the desk, dusted the top off, and flipped it onto his head. Mullin looked out the window, and turned back. “Ya know, Lynn, I wonder…” he said speaking to a rapidly disappearing scientist.
*****
Lash looked up at the Daily Gazette newspaper building. New York’s longest continuously published paper. It routinely covered his discoveries and adventures as well as his misadventures. He was no stranger to these halls of the fourth estate.
He smiled at the receptionist. “Good morning, Mr. Lash. Go right on up," she said cheerfully.
Lynn walked through the lobby and up to the elevator cage. As he entered, the attendant pushed seven. Two other passengers stepped into the cage and spoke to the attendant.
“Sports.”
They started to talk, then the man to the left looked at Lash.
“Say, aren’t you that science guy…Mr. …Ladd..Ladds?”
Lynn laughed. “
Lash. Yes, I am.”
“That was some kinda bad news about that guy dying in your office last night. But you know, I saw him last night, musta been before it happened, running through the streets, moaning. I was up near O’Malley’s and…”
Lynn turned around and grabbed the shoulders of the man and tightened his grip. “You saw him before he came up to my office??? Which way did he come from?”
A scared look crossed the face of the witness. Lynn let go and murmured an apology.
“He just came out of nowhere," the man answered, "and ran. My buddies and I were laughing that he was having a hot time tonight, and he really was. We should’ve called the cops.”
Lynn shook his head. “No. Don’t think it would have helped. Whoever, whatever caused him to burst into flames already had his number. Thanks. Your help has been invaluable. “
The cage stopped and Lynn stepped out onto the editorial floor and headed toward the office of the Publisher, Fred Gorman.
“Lynn. Good to see you, ” Gorman said, shaking Lash's hand waving him into the office through the open door.
Lynn returned the handshake. “Good to see you too, Fred. Thanks for seeing me so quickly. I had some questions on the story your paper printed.”
Gorman motioned Lynn to the chair in front of his desk. “Do you want me to call the reporter in?”
Lynn nodded. “Please, that might help. “
Gorman pushed the button on the intercom and asked his secretary to call Gill Thomas in.
The publisher milled around the office nervously. “You know, Lynn," Gorman offered, "I don’t think your victim was the first flaming man."
Lynn’s attention was piqued. “What do you mean by that?”
“Well…” Gorman cleared his throat. “There have been reports of men and women over the last couple of months. We haven’t reported it.”
Lynn listened with interest to the publisher as the sounds of footsteps interrupted the narrative.
The reporter, Gill Thomas, knocked on the doorframe. Of medium height, with dark brown hair, he looked like a boy reporter, complete with twinkling eyes. His press card stuck out of his pocket. His youthful enthusiasm filled the room. “May I come in, Sir? You called for me?”
The New Adventures of Lynn Lash Page 11