"The Shogren Exhilaration Clinic"
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dochermes"The Shogren Exhilaration Clinic"
2/26/1943
I.
"Not YOU again! Get out of here right now."
Kelly O'Connor responded with her most ingratiating smile and smoothest voice, "I'm glad to see you too, dearest." A natural redhead with bright green eyes, uptilted nose and full lips, she was pretty rather than gorgeous and most people found her likeable on sight. Tilting her simple cloche hat to a saucy angle, Kelly leaned a hip up against the battered old desk in the squad room. Between the clatter of typewriters and the ringing of desk phones, the background noise gave their conversation some cover. A slowly rotating ceiling fan made the cloud of cigarette smoke swirl without noticeably dissipating any of it.
Seeing her grin, Jim Harkins only sputtered and his broad face darkened. "I mean it, kid. My job is hanging by a thread as it is. Forget me pounding a beat out on Coney Island, you're going to have me working part-time as a night watchman at Macy's."
"Well, I like that! After all the cases I've solved for you--"
She was cut off as the big detective heaved up to loom over her. Harkins was not only tall, he was broad and the shadow of his shoulders covered Kelly's slim form entirely. "I've broken too many rules for you already."
"Seems I recall breaking a few rules of my own for you," she whispered sweetly. "Tell me you haven't forgotten."
Glancing around, Harkins saw a number of his fellow officers listening with cocked heads and wry smiles. "Don't you mugs have work to do?!" he snapped. "I know none of you have finished all your paperwork."
"Jim darlinggggg," said Kelly, "I was wondering if you had heard anything about Lieutenant Bessolo? I hear he's in hot water for losing some confidential papers."
"Aw, carrot-top, don't tear me in half like this. Our personal err relationship has nothing to do my job. You are not cleared for any more information than the regular citizen. Scram. Beat it. If Captain Beachum finds you here again..."
"Harkins!" snapped an icy voice from across the room. Every cop in that room sat up straighter and a few snubbed their cigarettes out in overflowing ashtrays. "I would like to speak with you and your guest."
"Yes, sir." Harkins came around his desk and headed for the open office door in one corner, shaking off Kelly's attempt to take his arm. They entered an amazingly cluttered room with many loose stacks of paper, manila folders, newspapers and reference books ready to slide off every available surface. Four empty paper coffee cups encircled the telephone on the desk behind which the captain dropped into his swivel chair.
Well past sixty, Montague Beachum was a fit, alert man with white hair and mustache but eyebrows that had remained black. He nodded at the redheaded reporter. "Miss O'Connor."
Kelly removed a stack of Manhattan directories from a chair and lowered herself demurely down, crossing her slim legs to best advantage. "First, let me say that Detective Harkins did not invite me to your squad room and in fact keeps trying to throw me out. Not what I would call a good approach to working with the Fourth Estate. Also..."
"Stop. Miss O'Connor, I have come to accept that you are not to be discouraged from poking your little Irish nose where it does not belong. But I also have to admit that you have sometimes turned up information which has been helpful to this department. So I am going to give you some slack in your leash."
"That's a flattering image," she smirked.
"I heard you mention Lt Bessolo," the captain went on. "Army Intelligence has taken it out of our hands and informed me that it is none of our business. I don't like being told what is or isn't my business! My job is to protect the public no matter what." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "This is not for publication, at least not yet, but there have been other similar incidents. A bank clerk handed over a briefcase jammed with thousands of dollars he was about to skip town with. A surgeon can't account for a supply of expensive but addictive narcotics from his office. There are one or two others."
Kelly barely restrained herself from leaping to her feet. "An outbreak of absent-mindedness! An epidemic of fuzzy thinking. Just what New York doesn't need."
Beachum regarded both Harkins and Kelly without warmth. "I have been ordered not to assign any of my men to investigate these shenanigans. I can't tell them that several women who look Japanese but who sound like Swedes are running around Times Square. I wish there was a way to get someone looking into this mess, but it's out of my hands."
"Tragic," said Kelly. She breathed on her knuckles and then brushed her closed hand lightly high on her chest in an unbearably smug gesture. "Speaking as a talented young member of the journalistic community, it occurs to me that perhaps a civic-minded reporter or two might happen to stumble upon this mystery, purely by chance of course."
"Oh, mur-DER!" breathed Jim Harkins but he made no further objection.
"At least I have made myself clear. Detective Harkins, I want you to retype the report on that drowning down by the docks. You're getting much too careless. Take more time. If you don't know how to spell a word, we have dictionaries in the squad room. And Miss O'Connor, I'd like you to consider something while leaving, as you will be. It's about these so-called mystery men and women who are running around the Five Buroughs using stupid names and wearing funny masks."
"Oh, they're jolly," Kelly responded as she rose. "The Sceptre, the Sting and his partner. Dr Vitarius. Mark Drum. I believe even the Monk is still out there distracting mobsters by putting big bullet holes in their nasty bodies."
"I've taken a particular interest in one ,ljvigilante," Captain Beachum said while keeping his gaze fixed on her. "I've assembled a file on her sightings, where she appears and where she seems to come from. The size of her footprints, the length of her stride, her estimated height and weight. Every detail is adding up. Yes, I would like very much to learn who the Green Devil really is."
Kelly O'Connor's nerves did not slip even for an instant. "Aw, she's probably some mousy little skirt that no one ever heard of," she scoffed.
II.
The next day being Saturday, Kelly worked at the MESSENGER from eight AM to noon. Mostly, her chores involved rewrites and filing and following up on phone calls to thank sources. Many times she was annoyed that her skills at typing and her expansive vocabulary led to being used so much to correct the appalling misspellings and clunky wordchoice of staff reporters. She was often told she could be an assistant editor if she wanted at better pay, but that did not appeal to her. Kelly was young and energetic. She wanted to be a crime reporter, running around seedy parts of town after leads, putting unrelated facts together, chatting with the vermin of the underworld. None of this being tied to a desk for her!
Exactly at noon, she cleaned off the desk she shared with crazy old Gaddis, made sure her all her assignments had been checked off and hopped to her feet. Finally. With the breezy wave to the three staff still pecking away at their typewriters, Kelly grabbed her oversized brown leather handbag and twirled her hat around an index finger as she sailed through the open doors of the day room and clicked down the hall in her heels.
This late February day was dark and chilly, and a cold haze discouraged anyone from being out who didn't need to be. The sidewalks had dangerous icy patches. Lunchtime crowds were sparse, even the constant flood of tourists was subdued in the miserable weather. Many off-duty sailors and soldiers in uniform drifted around, heads down with discouragement about having a good time. Kelly O'Connor headed for 42nd Street and slowed when she was crossing over to the Eighth Avenue intersection.
The young redhead perked up as she saw two women walking side by side ahead of her. They were tiny, barely five feet tall, well dressed in a sober professional style. Their glossy black hair and tawny skin tones had caught her eye. Kelly quickened her pace a bit. New York had a sizeable Chinese-American population but not many Japanese, the situation was not like what had happened on the West Coast with the detainment camps. Still, feelings were running high as the war went on. She was sure many Nisei or first generation Japanese-Americans might quietly start using Chinese names to avoid harassment.
The two women kept moving, over to Ninth Avenue and heading north into a seedier neighborhood. Kelly followed at as much of a distance as she could maintain without losing them. Her heartbeat was speeding up in the familiar way that meant her subconscious mind expected trouble. A wicked smile touched her lips. She didn't like the Green Devil Life, she loved it. The two Asian ladies stopped at a rundown red brick building. The windows on its second floor had been boarded up. They went in through a plain narrow door facing the stret. Separating that building from a warehouse that had FURNITURE DISCOUNT over its front was an alley which caught her attention. Kelly slowly crept up on the mouth of that alley, flattening up against the warehouse wall and holding her breath to listen. She heard a deep male growl and then a frantic higher-pitched reply.
Crouching down almost to the ground, Kelly took a quick peek and yanked her head back, staightening up. An older woman passing by gave her a disapproving scowl, and the redhead grinned in reply.
In that brief glance into the alley, the redheaded reporter had seen two big bruisers with near-simian features, backed up against a wooden wall at the far end. One of the mugs was holding a third man's arms from behind, and that man's body language so clearly displayed complete terror that Kelly had been galvanized. Whatever those two women were up to in the brick building, it could not be as significant as whatever was transpiring in the alley might be. Kelly looked all around her and then tried the door to the warehouse and found it unlocked. She slipped into a rundown foyer with creaky wooden stairs leading up. To her left was an open door of a janitor closet with a mop sticking up from a bucket of muddy water. No one was in sight. Kelly yanked the closet door shut behind her.
The regular Green Devil costume, with its crash helmet and heavy leather jacket, remained hidden under her bed in the boarding house where she lived. But she recently had begun carrying something with her for emergencies. Kelly wriggled out of her black skirt, long-sleeved white blouse and bolero jacket in an instant, hiding them under some folded blankets in a corner. Underneath, she was wearing a snug bodyshirt of dark green silk and tights of the same material. Across the back of the shirt, she had boldly silkscreened a white outline of a pitchfork.The legs of the tights had been folded up above her knees and now she pulled them down. The sensible pumps for office work were kicked off and replaced with dark slippers. From a hidden lining which she had painstakingly sewn into the handbag herself came a pair of wrist-length leather gloves that were suspiciously heavy.
Kelly's mind was boiling with a combination of excitement and fear. She was taking so many chances doing any of this. If her clothes were discovered here, her true identity made known, it meant not only loss of her job at the MESSENGER and any career, but it also meant possible criminal charges. The police had wanted to ask the Green Devil a hundred questions about her vigilante ways for two years now. That didn't matter. In fact, in one corner of her brain, the thought came that odds were good she might not be alive to have to deal with consequences.
No time to worry. Jumping out of the closet, Kelly tugged a dark green bandanna-mask down over her head and adjusted it to fit tightly. It left only her mouth and her eyes exposed. With her distinctive red head and snub nose covered, she hoped it would be an effective disguise. But even as she sprang through the foyer door back onto the street, she heard a scream of pain from her right. The Green Devil sprinted full tilt into the alley, head down and fists clenched. She caught a momentary confused glimpse of a newcomer, a man in a white lab coat who was holding up a shiny metal disc. Then everything vanished in a kaleidoscopic flare of splintered colors whirling insanely in her eyes.
III.
Slowly, Kelly became aware her feet hurt. She was trudging forlornly along a sidewalk in the freezing mist. What the hell? It was like waking up from a vivid dream where you were confused for a moment over what was real and what had been the dream. She felt numb and exhausted. Eventually, it dawned on her to sit down and get her bearings. There was a green wooden bench in front of a shoemaker's shop and she dropped down onto it with a sigh.
It was getting dark already. That was odd. She had changed into the Green Devil just after noon. The Green Devil...? But she was wearing her office clothes again, clammy and damp as they were. Kelly shuddered violently, wrapped her arms around herself and lowered her head. The last she remembered, she had been doing something as the Devil, up on Eighth Avenue near 48th Street. At twelve noon. She shot out her wrist and saw her tiny watch said five-seventeen. And she was down by 20th Street. What had happened to her? What was wrong?
On sudden impulse, Kelly probed her head with her fingers but couldn't find the slightest bump and there was no twinge of pain. Evidently she hadn't been knocked out. So far, Kelly had only been struck in the head a few times in her vigilante career, and none of the impacts had been hard enough to make her lose consciousness. This was a particular fear of hers. She didn't want to end up like the punchdrunk ex-fighters wandering around Mahoney's Gym where she had been taking boxing lessons after hours.
Actually, she was beginning to feel better, hungry and tired but not obviously ill. Then it came back to her. In the alley had been a man in a white smock like a doctor. He had flashed some gadget at her and that was the last thing she remembered. What had happened? She was missing hours out of her life. Did those mugs know who she was? Had she managed to stumble away, had she changed into her regular clothes and escaped? There was no way to tell. Her feet ached as if she had walked miles.
Kelly stood up in increasing agitation, hardly noticing that she was carrying the deep pigskin suitcase that had been her father's. She was only a block away from the 11th Precinct House. Hopefully Jim was still on duty and she could talk to him. That big solid bulk of meat could be immensely reassuring at times. Striding briskly through the gloom, she caught sight of the familiar outline getting in the door of his Nash, parked around the corner from the station. Kelly broke into a run and almost slammed into the driver's door before she could catch herself.
"Hey there, dollface," he greeted her as he turned the window crank down. "I wasn't expecting to see you today."
Without a word, not knowing why she was doing this, Kelly popped open the brass clasps and shoved the opened suitcase through the window into Harkin's lap. The detective reached inside and held up a dark green crash helmet which had two short wooden horns glued to the temples. Folded inside the suitcase was a green leather jacket with a white pitchfork painted across its back.
Kelly's heart stopped and her jaw dropped down so hard it hurt. What was WRONG with her? Why would she do something like this? She stammered incoherently and could not figure what she would have said if she had been able to speak properly.
Harkins chuckled. "Heh. Honey, it's about time you came clean but honestly, I've known you're the Green Devil for months now."
"You have?" she squeaked in a tiny voice.
"Sure. Maybe you don't take me seriously but I AM a police detective with eight years experience. You've dropped clues without realizing it, you made up lame alibis about where you were when the Devil was spotted, all that sort of thing. It adds up. Why do you think Captain Beachum gave you that speech today? He's ninety per cent convinced himself, but he's warning you to be careful."
Kelly made no reply. Her mouth was still open and she swayed unsteadily.
"Are you all right? You're acting funny even by your standards," Harkins said. He put the suitcase in the back seat, heaved up out of the car and guided her around to the passenger side. "Come on, carrot-top, let's ride around. I got a hunch you need to tell me things."
As Harkins began driving aimlessly around the city, Kelly felt her head clear. She told everything that had happened after she had left the MESSENGER office and her voice broke toward the end. "Did I have a seizure? Or a stroke like my Aunt Clara did? Am I losing my mind?"
"Nah, I don't think so," Harkins replied promptly. "You act screwy but that's mostly a show to get people off guard. Far as I can tell, you're a sharp little cookie who knows exactly what she's doing. Give me more details on the bird with the white coat."
Kelly closed her eyes and thought hard. "Hmmm. Not that tall, maybe five nine. Old gramps with white hair and a bushy white mustache. He was wearing glasses and a long smock like doctors put on. I only saw him for a second. He held up something in his hand and there was this fireworks display. Next thing I knew, I was ankling along the pavement."
"Oh Cripes. Not another Mad Scientist. We've had two of them in the past year. There was that freak Cogitus with a head like a watermelon. And Dr whatever his name was, Dr Charybdis. Complete fruitcakes. One claimed he could start earthquakes and wanted extortion money to keep Manhattan safe, the other was trying to make an army of mindless slaves. I blame you mystery men for those lunatics."
"Wait, what? Why blame.. well, us?"
"Because you guys in the masks and costumes started chasing crooks and suddenly the bad guys got all weird too. I think you and Mark Drum and the Sceptre inspire those nuts to give themselves dopey names as well. Did you know Samhain has been reported in the metropolitan area?"
"Who?"
"Never mind. You're better off not knowing." He started up the engine, glanced to see if anyone had been within sight, and eased out into the street.
Slumped back in the passenger seat, Kelly mumbled, "Guess I'm not half as clever as I thought I was. But hold the presses. I must have walked home to get my suitcase and then come straight to see you. I felt compelled to give away my biggest secret! Jim, I ran into the guy who's behind the attacks of odd behavior lately!"
"Ho, the light dawns!" Harkins laughed. "You know, sweetie, you have a positive gift for finding trouble and diving in. Maybe you are a natural born reporter. Yeah, we're heading right now to the area where all this happened. You feel up to it?"
"Sure. I'm full of spit and vinegar. You want a snappy costume, too? Something with a cape?"
IV.
Back near Times Square, still unusually deserted because of the freezing mist and wind, Jim Harkins parked across the street from the Shogren Clinic and scowled more than usual. "Here's where you stay out of trouble for once," he said. "Whoever is behind this, they know you. So I will check out the door you saw the two Oriental dames come out of. Then I'll give the alley a once-over. Meanwhile, you park your keister here, understand?"
"Where's the fun in that?"
"Never mind 'fun.' This could be dangerous. You saw two goons ready to rough up some poor sap. There might be mobsters behind this, maybe even Axis agents. Promise me you'll stay put."
Kelly squeezed up against his side and laughed deep in her throat. "I never make promises I can't keep. But... Jim, be extra careful. I saw you lock your gun in the glovebox."
"Along with my badge. Just in case. I want to find you here when I get back." He gave Kelly a long thoughtful gaze and they both moved their heads closer to kiss briefly. Then he took off.
On the red brick building, the specified door had the number 118 on it, above a brass plaque that read Shogren EXHILIRATION CLINIC. It was unlocked. Harkins entered a rather Art Deco lobby of sweeping chrome strips and white marble, with uncomfortable-looking metal furniture, all brightly lit enough to dazzle. From behind a kidney-shaped desk, a young woman in a snug white smock stood up and came around to greet him.
Seen close up, she was gorgeous as a screen star, with flawless ivory skin and a sleek understated figure. The straight black hair which reached to her waist shone under the lights. Despite propaganda pamphlets from the War Department, Harkins couldn't tell a Japanese from a Chinese or a Korean. He didn't know anyone in his department who could and he honestly doubted if most Asians could either. But he knew a beautiful woman when he saw one.
Then she spoke, with a strong Scandanavian accent that startled him. "Good evening, sir. My name is April. Have you been recommended to us?"
"Eh? Oh, no. Someone mentioned your place, that's all. I thought it might do me good. I'm a wreck, can't sleep."
"I quite understand," she said. "The dreadful world situation. Naturally, everyone is tense and worried. Well, I believe we may offer you a free complimentary session, sir, and at the end if you wish to leave a donation, certainly it will be welcome." She clapped her hands softly and two women emerged from around a gleaming partition. Except from having their hair done up in an elaborate swirl held by wooden skewers, they seemed nearly identical to April.
"May, June, please take this gentleman through our process." Seeing the bemused expression on Harkness' face, she gifted him with a dazzling smile. "Our names are not really April, May and June, of course. We thought our real names might be too unfamiliar for Americans. I am Mjordis and my sisters here are Hildestag and Mitte-Anne."
Harkins only nodded agreeably and was led to a small disrobing chamber. May and June stepped back outside for a moment. As he stripped and donned a thin cotton robe provided for him, he was glad he had left his wallet and gun behind. All he had on him was some money and his keys. As he tied the sash, he was joined again by the two women who seemed positively eager to get started. In another tiny cubicle, he leaned back and had his hands and feet scrubbed with hot soapy water, then his lower arms and calves washed as well. They rubbed him briskly dry with rough towels. One of the women worked a faintly fragrant oil into his hair and brushed it. Off to one side was a porcelain table with a shower attachment and drains in the floor; Harkins realized that some of the bolder customers received a full washing up there.
During this procedure, May and June chatted with each other and made an occasional remark to Harkins which he could not quite catch. They weren't speaking Japanese or Chinese, he was sure of that much. Norwegian, maybe? This place was called the 'Shogren Clinic,' after all. He found their lively chatter amusing and even endearing, despite his determination to remain on his guard here.
Next, he was escorted into still another small room. This one was dimly lit and comfortably warm and dry. A wide table in the center space was padded and had a circular hole at one end. May and June tugged his robe down off his shoulders to leave his torso bare but left his midsection covered, and indicated he should lie down on the table. His face dropped naturally into the opening provided and a raised section at the other end raised his ankles so his feet was comfortable. Harkins fought back a sigh of relief. Most of his assignments involved watching someone from the front seat of his car and trudging from door to door asking questions. He could get used to this.
Rubbing warm oil into their hands, May and June began a vigorous massage. They were much stronger than their size might indicate. Those little fingers dug deep into the tight muscles in his back and neck, loosening knots and easing tension. Soon, the women were bending his arms and legs out to their full range of motion, twisting and stretching the joints.
Even though it was tempting to drift into a vague reverie, Harkins' mind seldom stopped working. He thought about Kelly's revelation earlier. It was true that he had figured out the Green Devil's game early on. Kelly and the Devil turned up in the same area too often for coincidence, Kelly's explanations were sometimes too flimsy, and Kelly's stories in the MESSENGER sometimes included details about crimes that only a witness could have known. Someone who didn't know her personally might never have picked up on these clues, of course.
Eventually, the womens' hands stroked lighter and lighter until they were teasing feather strokes. One of them whispered, "Close eyes please. You turn over now."
Although he compliantly swing over onto his back with a grunt, Harkins could not resist peeking out through barely opened eyelids. He never expected to see that both women were wearing rubber goggles with thick circular lenses which gave them a grotesque appearance. Before he could speak, one of them flipped a toggle switch by the door with a click. The room disappeared into a blinding pattern of swirling lights that filled the air with sparks and spokes moving like a whirlpool. Sharp pain exploded in his head and then there was the soothing blackness of unconsciousness.
V.
Kelly O'Connor always ran out of patience easily. Dusk had fallen early, and the foggy conditions had deteriorated into a chilling drizzle. Few pedestrians passed by, walking slowly and placing their feet down flat to avoid falling. The cars crawled past, not trusting their brakes. There would be few witnesses to any dark deed. It was a night made for horror and adventure and mystery. And here she sat, arms folded, fuming, while Jim Harkins hoarded all the excitement to hiself.
She wasn't aware of reaching a decision but suddenly she was wriggling out of her clothing and tugging on the Green Devil costume. It wasn't the first time she had changed outfits in a car, and Jim's big old Nash certainly provided a good deal more room than her tiny roadster. The hiking boots, tough denim pants and leather jacket were all so dark a green as to be almost black. She fastened the silk bandanna mask over her head again and then lowered the crash helmet over that. Now her heart was pounding. She had come to live for this, the jolt of adrenalin burning through her veins like mercury. Kelly tugged on the wrist-length leather gloves, took a few deep breaths and hopped out of the car when she was sure no one was watching. She dashed across the icy street with her deep-tread boots giving her traction and was pressed up against the alley again in an instant.
Now, that her head had cleared from whatever craziness that Mad Scientist had done to her, Kelly was glad to realize that Jim knew her secret. The tension of wondering when he would find out, or whether she should reveal herself to him, had been hanging over her head. Her basic optimism immediately concluded that he would want to help her, driving her to crime scenes, providing distractions to cover her coming and going, being basically her sidekick. In return, he could take credit for nabbing crooks that the Green Devil hauled in, she wouldn't mind.
Entering the alley, almost invisible in the rain and gloom in her dark costume, Kelly began poking around. It was too much to hope that the bad guys had conveniently dropped a book of matches from the nightclub where they met, or maybe a European cigarette only sold in one store in Manhattan. Still, once or twice, she had enjoyed improbable strokes of fortune like that and it was worth searching.
No such luck tonight. The Green Devil made a disgusted clucking noise and went over to the single door in the side of the delapidated building facing her. There were no windows, and the brick wall had faded letters from decades earlier which read PRINTING AND SUPPLIES. The Shogren Clinic clearly was the only occupant of this ruin. Kelly crouched by the door, constantly looking around for any observers. Usually she didn't go into action until the wee hours of the morning and she felt very exposed being out so early. Although she had no idea how to pick locks, she had purchased a set of keys from a minor underworld stooge who had assured her that they would open at least seventy per cent of the locks she might encounter. She had begun carrying the keys in her jacket along with a few other useful items like a pencil flashlight and a Swiss Army knife. A mystery woman had to be prepared.
But the knob turned easily in her hand and she swung the door outward. I'm in luck tonight, she thought just before several strong hands seized her and yanked her bodily inside.
For the next thirty seconds, Kelly gave her best impression of a furious bobcat. Wriggling, kicking, clawing and punching, she did everything but arch her back and hiss. She got free immediately, was knocked down by an open-hand slap and leaped back up again to catch a knotted fist right in the pit of her stomach. That doubled her up. All she could focus on after that was forcing back vomit. She vaguely felt her wrists and ankles being seized and then she was being carried quickly down a narrow hallway. By the time she felt she was not going to throw up inside her helmet, Kelly had been tossed unceremoniously across a room and skidded across the floor to find herself sitting up against a heavy drapery.
"Nice digs," she observed mildly, rubbing her sore abdomen and taking in her surroundings. Considerable money had been expended to create this den, from the overstuffed leather armchairs to the wall shelves packed with thick old volumes, to the deep plush carpeting. Everything was in dark brown, except for the burgundy-colored drapes which hung over every wall and even concealed the door. Sitting next to a end table which held a Tiffany lamp and a decanter of brandy sat an imposing old man who was staring at her as if she had appeared in a puff of smoke.
Rising to his feet, placing his snifter down carefully, the man stood only an inch over feet tall, well-dressed in a tan suit with a matching vest although his tie was loosened and the top button of his shirt undone. Thick bristly white hair and a white brush mustache would have demanded more attention, but this man wore a pair of rubber goggles which thick lenses through which his eyes could not be seen and those goggles distracted from everything else.
"The dame came back, boss," muttered one of the big bruisers who had carried her in here. "Guess she don't take hints easy."
"It would seem not," agreed the old man in a strong Norwegian accent. "This is the same young woman we processed this afternoon?"
"Yep. Different masquerade suit but it's her. Lou and me figgered you might want to ask her a few questions before... well, you know."
The old man rubbed his chin, sighed and gestured to the two goons. "Lou, Eddie, I want you to finishing packing up my laboratory equipment. We will be moving on tonight. That this vigilante has started investigating our operation is a bad sign. She is obviously a mere dilettante but I have no wish to clash with the Monk or Dr Vitarius."
"We're on it, Doc," said the other thug. "Most of your stuff is already in the trucks." With that, the two men went behind a tapestry and left through the concealed door.
Although she felt capable of going into action, Kelly remained seated on the floor for the moment. "That 'dilettante' crack hurt, buster. I've been putting in my time crookbusting for two years now."
"I believe you should know with whom you are dealing, young lady," said the old man as he seated himself again. He crossed his legs, revealing he had replaced dress shoes with bedroom slippers. "I am the Baron Egil Shogren. I am the foremost proponent of what we in the community refer to as borderland research... delving into secrets beyond what mundane physics entails."
"Oh, you're a Mad Scientist," she replied. "I heard about you guys. Cogitus and Dr Whats-His-Name."
"Choose your words carefully, miss. Your life is likely to be short enough as it is. You are known as the Green Devil. Rumors are that you can somehow deflect bullets with your hands while not being injured. Trusted agents of mine have reported seeing this."
"Well, yeah, it's true. What can I say, we all have our talents, you know?"
Baron Shogren lifted his goggles and placed them up on his forehead, revealing he had a marked single eyelid fold. The distinctly Asian face and the Scandanavian accent produced an unexpected dissonance. "I feel there may be a way to duplicate your ability. It could be useful. Perhaps dissection will not be necessary, perhaps only some brain tissue will be needed."
"Whoa, whoa, put on the brakes," she said, sitting up straighter. "I'm sure we can work things out without my brain tissue being dug outta my poor skull. That's taking liberties. Who are you again? How come your borderland research is so far ahead of what regular eggheads are doing?"
"Ah, the answer can be found in a single word. Zhune. That means nothing to you of course. Before recorded history, in the blind spot between Ice Ages where archaeologists dare not look too closely, this world's first civilization produced men of genius. They invented machines which could let men walk through walls, switch minds from one brain to another, shrink a horse to the size of a mouse and much more. They even solved the ultimate secret of the universe, converting energy to matter and matter to energy."
"Oh, come ON! Pull the other leg already!"
Shogren snorted. "This is not common knowledge, child. Few have even heard of Zhune. Sadly, the artifacts I have managed to retrieve have long since lost their charge. Using incredibly expensive amounts of electricity, I have only been able to bring a single minor Zhune relic up to usuable standards. The Divulger."
"Ohhh. Now I get it." Kelly had drawn her knees up to conceal what she was doing behind her back. "That's why I was acting so dopey today. You used your Zoom thingie on me."
"ZHUNE! Not Zoom. Why do I waste my time with an uneducated American wench?" He got to his feet again, smacking one fist into the other open palm. "You are hopeless."
"We uneducated wenches are full of surprises," the Green Devil laughed as the drapes behind her burst into flames. She rolled over and ignited another drape with the cigarette lighter from her jacket, then hopped nimbly to her feet. Baron Shogren was rushing her. Kelly planted her feet, drew an arm back to her ear and smacked a perfect right cross to the side of the man's jaw. The Baron toppled to sprawl on the carpeting, not entirely unconscious but not exactly in any condition to be a threat.
Behind the visor of her devil-horned helmet, Kelly grinned. Constantly facing opponents way out of her weight class and much taller as well, she cheated. Across her knuckles under the gloves were thin strips of lead she had patiently hammered into the right shape.
The flickering glare and stink of black smoke reminded her that not only were the hangings on fire, the flames were spreading quickly. Time to get going. She had not forgotten Jim was somewhere in this building.
VI.
Out in the narrow corridors, she found a series of rooms that she faintly remembered, as if she had seen them in childhood. Her memories of having been in this nightmarish facility were muted by the mind-altering experience that Baron Shogren had put her through. There was the shower room. The room with the massage table. And there was a room with simple sleeping mats on the floor and a charcoal-burning stove for cooking food. That must be where the women slept. Starting to panic as the smell of smoke grew stronger, Kelly rounded a corner in time to collide with May and June, who were carrying notebooks and bundles of papers. Seizing one of them by the blouse front, the Green Devil slammed the woman up against a wall so hard that a framed picture fell off.
"The man who came in here before! An hour ago! Where is he?" Kelly screamed in a voice that seemed alien to herself.
"He has already left!" yelled the Shogren woman in obvious terror, struggling to get out of the grip of this strange helmeted creature who had grabbed her. Kelly released the woman and heard a door slam from the rear of the building. The Baron escaping? Maybe, but it didn't seem important at the moment. Finding Jim was all that mattered. She plunged through another door to find herself in the lobby. Kelly raced outside into the night, seeing a few stray citizens starting to gather on the slick sidewalks. Strange wavering shadows were being cast and she looked back to see gouts of flame licking out from the boarded up second floor windows.
Not wanting anyone to get a good look at her, the Green Devil hurtled across the street and around the corner to find Jim Harkins standing by his Nash, starting to open the driver's door. Knowing he might be in a daze as she had been earlier, Kelly boldly manhandled him around to the other side of the car and shoved him into the passenger seat before hustling to get behind the wheel herself. She started the powerful engine, slid out onto Tenth Avenue and started heading south. There were no signs of any fire trucks yet.
Had Baron Shogren escaped, with his three women accomplices? Right now, she didn't really care much. As she drove, Kelly tugged off her helmet and then the mask, tossing them into the back seat. She had put a dozen blocks behind them when she finally pulled into an empty parking spot, sliding a bit on the icy street. Finally, she felt she could breathe freely as she turned to Harkins.
"Jim? Jim, are you okay? Are you all dopey like I was today?" she asked.
"No, I feel fine," came the subdued monotone answer. "But there is something I want to show you, Red."
"Oh, right." She felt relieved at understanding he was basically unharmed. "The Divulger. That gadget makes you reveal your biggest secret. Go ahead, Jim, you're a decent guy... how bad can it be?"
Harkins had reached under the seat and come up with a small black box that fit in his hand. "I was going to keep this hidden. I know it's much too soon for this, Kelly. It's not the right time."
He handed the box to her, and she opened it to feel the strongest, most bittersweet pang in her chest she had ever known. The box held a simple gold ring with a single diamond. "Oh, honey..." she whispered, not sure if she could trust herself to speak out loud. Kelly pressed her hands to both his cheeks. "I promise, someday it will be the right time."
7/30/2019
2/26/1943
I.
"Not YOU again! Get out of here right now."
Kelly O'Connor responded with her most ingratiating smile and smoothest voice, "I'm glad to see you too, dearest." A natural redhead with bright green eyes, uptilted nose and full lips, she was pretty rather than gorgeous and most people found her likeable on sight. Tilting her simple cloche hat to a saucy angle, Kelly leaned a hip up against the battered old desk in the squad room. Between the clatter of typewriters and the ringing of desk phones, the background noise gave their conversation some cover. A slowly rotating ceiling fan made the cloud of cigarette smoke swirl without noticeably dissipating any of it.
Seeing her grin, Jim Harkins only sputtered and his broad face darkened. "I mean it, kid. My job is hanging by a thread as it is. Forget me pounding a beat out on Coney Island, you're going to have me working part-time as a night watchman at Macy's."
"Well, I like that! After all the cases I've solved for you--"
She was cut off as the big detective heaved up to loom over her. Harkins was not only tall, he was broad and the shadow of his shoulders covered Kelly's slim form entirely. "I've broken too many rules for you already."
"Seems I recall breaking a few rules of my own for you," she whispered sweetly. "Tell me you haven't forgotten."
Glancing around, Harkins saw a number of his fellow officers listening with cocked heads and wry smiles. "Don't you mugs have work to do?!" he snapped. "I know none of you have finished all your paperwork."
"Jim darlinggggg," said Kelly, "I was wondering if you had heard anything about Lieutenant Bessolo? I hear he's in hot water for losing some confidential papers."
"Aw, carrot-top, don't tear me in half like this. Our personal err relationship has nothing to do my job. You are not cleared for any more information than the regular citizen. Scram. Beat it. If Captain Beachum finds you here again..."
"Harkins!" snapped an icy voice from across the room. Every cop in that room sat up straighter and a few snubbed their cigarettes out in overflowing ashtrays. "I would like to speak with you and your guest."
"Yes, sir." Harkins came around his desk and headed for the open office door in one corner, shaking off Kelly's attempt to take his arm. They entered an amazingly cluttered room with many loose stacks of paper, manila folders, newspapers and reference books ready to slide off every available surface. Four empty paper coffee cups encircled the telephone on the desk behind which the captain dropped into his swivel chair.
Well past sixty, Montague Beachum was a fit, alert man with white hair and mustache but eyebrows that had remained black. He nodded at the redheaded reporter. "Miss O'Connor."
Kelly removed a stack of Manhattan directories from a chair and lowered herself demurely down, crossing her slim legs to best advantage. "First, let me say that Detective Harkins did not invite me to your squad room and in fact keeps trying to throw me out. Not what I would call a good approach to working with the Fourth Estate. Also..."
"Stop. Miss O'Connor, I have come to accept that you are not to be discouraged from poking your little Irish nose where it does not belong. But I also have to admit that you have sometimes turned up information which has been helpful to this department. So I am going to give you some slack in your leash."
"That's a flattering image," she smirked.
"I heard you mention Lt Bessolo," the captain went on. "Army Intelligence has taken it out of our hands and informed me that it is none of our business. I don't like being told what is or isn't my business! My job is to protect the public no matter what." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "This is not for publication, at least not yet, but there have been other similar incidents. A bank clerk handed over a briefcase jammed with thousands of dollars he was about to skip town with. A surgeon can't account for a supply of expensive but addictive narcotics from his office. There are one or two others."
Kelly barely restrained herself from leaping to her feet. "An outbreak of absent-mindedness! An epidemic of fuzzy thinking. Just what New York doesn't need."
Beachum regarded both Harkins and Kelly without warmth. "I have been ordered not to assign any of my men to investigate these shenanigans. I can't tell them that several women who look Japanese but who sound like Swedes are running around Times Square. I wish there was a way to get someone looking into this mess, but it's out of my hands."
"Tragic," said Kelly. She breathed on her knuckles and then brushed her closed hand lightly high on her chest in an unbearably smug gesture. "Speaking as a talented young member of the journalistic community, it occurs to me that perhaps a civic-minded reporter or two might happen to stumble upon this mystery, purely by chance of course."
"Oh, mur-DER!" breathed Jim Harkins but he made no further objection.
"At least I have made myself clear. Detective Harkins, I want you to retype the report on that drowning down by the docks. You're getting much too careless. Take more time. If you don't know how to spell a word, we have dictionaries in the squad room. And Miss O'Connor, I'd like you to consider something while leaving, as you will be. It's about these so-called mystery men and women who are running around the Five Buroughs using stupid names and wearing funny masks."
"Oh, they're jolly," Kelly responded as she rose. "The Sceptre, the Sting and his partner. Dr Vitarius. Mark Drum. I believe even the Monk is still out there distracting mobsters by putting big bullet holes in their nasty bodies."
"I've taken a particular interest in one ,ljvigilante," Captain Beachum said while keeping his gaze fixed on her. "I've assembled a file on her sightings, where she appears and where she seems to come from. The size of her footprints, the length of her stride, her estimated height and weight. Every detail is adding up. Yes, I would like very much to learn who the Green Devil really is."
Kelly O'Connor's nerves did not slip even for an instant. "Aw, she's probably some mousy little skirt that no one ever heard of," she scoffed.
II.
The next day being Saturday, Kelly worked at the MESSENGER from eight AM to noon. Mostly, her chores involved rewrites and filing and following up on phone calls to thank sources. Many times she was annoyed that her skills at typing and her expansive vocabulary led to being used so much to correct the appalling misspellings and clunky wordchoice of staff reporters. She was often told she could be an assistant editor if she wanted at better pay, but that did not appeal to her. Kelly was young and energetic. She wanted to be a crime reporter, running around seedy parts of town after leads, putting unrelated facts together, chatting with the vermin of the underworld. None of this being tied to a desk for her!
Exactly at noon, she cleaned off the desk she shared with crazy old Gaddis, made sure her all her assignments had been checked off and hopped to her feet. Finally. With the breezy wave to the three staff still pecking away at their typewriters, Kelly grabbed her oversized brown leather handbag and twirled her hat around an index finger as she sailed through the open doors of the day room and clicked down the hall in her heels.
This late February day was dark and chilly, and a cold haze discouraged anyone from being out who didn't need to be. The sidewalks had dangerous icy patches. Lunchtime crowds were sparse, even the constant flood of tourists was subdued in the miserable weather. Many off-duty sailors and soldiers in uniform drifted around, heads down with discouragement about having a good time. Kelly O'Connor headed for 42nd Street and slowed when she was crossing over to the Eighth Avenue intersection.
The young redhead perked up as she saw two women walking side by side ahead of her. They were tiny, barely five feet tall, well dressed in a sober professional style. Their glossy black hair and tawny skin tones had caught her eye. Kelly quickened her pace a bit. New York had a sizeable Chinese-American population but not many Japanese, the situation was not like what had happened on the West Coast with the detainment camps. Still, feelings were running high as the war went on. She was sure many Nisei or first generation Japanese-Americans might quietly start using Chinese names to avoid harassment.
The two women kept moving, over to Ninth Avenue and heading north into a seedier neighborhood. Kelly followed at as much of a distance as she could maintain without losing them. Her heartbeat was speeding up in the familiar way that meant her subconscious mind expected trouble. A wicked smile touched her lips. She didn't like the Green Devil Life, she loved it. The two Asian ladies stopped at a rundown red brick building. The windows on its second floor had been boarded up. They went in through a plain narrow door facing the stret. Separating that building from a warehouse that had FURNITURE DISCOUNT over its front was an alley which caught her attention. Kelly slowly crept up on the mouth of that alley, flattening up against the warehouse wall and holding her breath to listen. She heard a deep male growl and then a frantic higher-pitched reply.
Crouching down almost to the ground, Kelly took a quick peek and yanked her head back, staightening up. An older woman passing by gave her a disapproving scowl, and the redhead grinned in reply.
In that brief glance into the alley, the redheaded reporter had seen two big bruisers with near-simian features, backed up against a wooden wall at the far end. One of the mugs was holding a third man's arms from behind, and that man's body language so clearly displayed complete terror that Kelly had been galvanized. Whatever those two women were up to in the brick building, it could not be as significant as whatever was transpiring in the alley might be. Kelly looked all around her and then tried the door to the warehouse and found it unlocked. She slipped into a rundown foyer with creaky wooden stairs leading up. To her left was an open door of a janitor closet with a mop sticking up from a bucket of muddy water. No one was in sight. Kelly yanked the closet door shut behind her.
The regular Green Devil costume, with its crash helmet and heavy leather jacket, remained hidden under her bed in the boarding house where she lived. But she recently had begun carrying something with her for emergencies. Kelly wriggled out of her black skirt, long-sleeved white blouse and bolero jacket in an instant, hiding them under some folded blankets in a corner. Underneath, she was wearing a snug bodyshirt of dark green silk and tights of the same material. Across the back of the shirt, she had boldly silkscreened a white outline of a pitchfork.The legs of the tights had been folded up above her knees and now she pulled them down. The sensible pumps for office work were kicked off and replaced with dark slippers. From a hidden lining which she had painstakingly sewn into the handbag herself came a pair of wrist-length leather gloves that were suspiciously heavy.
Kelly's mind was boiling with a combination of excitement and fear. She was taking so many chances doing any of this. If her clothes were discovered here, her true identity made known, it meant not only loss of her job at the MESSENGER and any career, but it also meant possible criminal charges. The police had wanted to ask the Green Devil a hundred questions about her vigilante ways for two years now. That didn't matter. In fact, in one corner of her brain, the thought came that odds were good she might not be alive to have to deal with consequences.
No time to worry. Jumping out of the closet, Kelly tugged a dark green bandanna-mask down over her head and adjusted it to fit tightly. It left only her mouth and her eyes exposed. With her distinctive red head and snub nose covered, she hoped it would be an effective disguise. But even as she sprang through the foyer door back onto the street, she heard a scream of pain from her right. The Green Devil sprinted full tilt into the alley, head down and fists clenched. She caught a momentary confused glimpse of a newcomer, a man in a white lab coat who was holding up a shiny metal disc. Then everything vanished in a kaleidoscopic flare of splintered colors whirling insanely in her eyes.
III.
Slowly, Kelly became aware her feet hurt. She was trudging forlornly along a sidewalk in the freezing mist. What the hell? It was like waking up from a vivid dream where you were confused for a moment over what was real and what had been the dream. She felt numb and exhausted. Eventually, it dawned on her to sit down and get her bearings. There was a green wooden bench in front of a shoemaker's shop and she dropped down onto it with a sigh.
It was getting dark already. That was odd. She had changed into the Green Devil just after noon. The Green Devil...? But she was wearing her office clothes again, clammy and damp as they were. Kelly shuddered violently, wrapped her arms around herself and lowered her head. The last she remembered, she had been doing something as the Devil, up on Eighth Avenue near 48th Street. At twelve noon. She shot out her wrist and saw her tiny watch said five-seventeen. And she was down by 20th Street. What had happened to her? What was wrong?
On sudden impulse, Kelly probed her head with her fingers but couldn't find the slightest bump and there was no twinge of pain. Evidently she hadn't been knocked out. So far, Kelly had only been struck in the head a few times in her vigilante career, and none of the impacts had been hard enough to make her lose consciousness. This was a particular fear of hers. She didn't want to end up like the punchdrunk ex-fighters wandering around Mahoney's Gym where she had been taking boxing lessons after hours.
Actually, she was beginning to feel better, hungry and tired but not obviously ill. Then it came back to her. In the alley had been a man in a white smock like a doctor. He had flashed some gadget at her and that was the last thing she remembered. What had happened? She was missing hours out of her life. Did those mugs know who she was? Had she managed to stumble away, had she changed into her regular clothes and escaped? There was no way to tell. Her feet ached as if she had walked miles.
Kelly stood up in increasing agitation, hardly noticing that she was carrying the deep pigskin suitcase that had been her father's. She was only a block away from the 11th Precinct House. Hopefully Jim was still on duty and she could talk to him. That big solid bulk of meat could be immensely reassuring at times. Striding briskly through the gloom, she caught sight of the familiar outline getting in the door of his Nash, parked around the corner from the station. Kelly broke into a run and almost slammed into the driver's door before she could catch herself.
"Hey there, dollface," he greeted her as he turned the window crank down. "I wasn't expecting to see you today."
Without a word, not knowing why she was doing this, Kelly popped open the brass clasps and shoved the opened suitcase through the window into Harkin's lap. The detective reached inside and held up a dark green crash helmet which had two short wooden horns glued to the temples. Folded inside the suitcase was a green leather jacket with a white pitchfork painted across its back.
Kelly's heart stopped and her jaw dropped down so hard it hurt. What was WRONG with her? Why would she do something like this? She stammered incoherently and could not figure what she would have said if she had been able to speak properly.
Harkins chuckled. "Heh. Honey, it's about time you came clean but honestly, I've known you're the Green Devil for months now."
"You have?" she squeaked in a tiny voice.
"Sure. Maybe you don't take me seriously but I AM a police detective with eight years experience. You've dropped clues without realizing it, you made up lame alibis about where you were when the Devil was spotted, all that sort of thing. It adds up. Why do you think Captain Beachum gave you that speech today? He's ninety per cent convinced himself, but he's warning you to be careful."
Kelly made no reply. Her mouth was still open and she swayed unsteadily.
"Are you all right? You're acting funny even by your standards," Harkins said. He put the suitcase in the back seat, heaved up out of the car and guided her around to the passenger side. "Come on, carrot-top, let's ride around. I got a hunch you need to tell me things."
As Harkins began driving aimlessly around the city, Kelly felt her head clear. She told everything that had happened after she had left the MESSENGER office and her voice broke toward the end. "Did I have a seizure? Or a stroke like my Aunt Clara did? Am I losing my mind?"
"Nah, I don't think so," Harkins replied promptly. "You act screwy but that's mostly a show to get people off guard. Far as I can tell, you're a sharp little cookie who knows exactly what she's doing. Give me more details on the bird with the white coat."
Kelly closed her eyes and thought hard. "Hmmm. Not that tall, maybe five nine. Old gramps with white hair and a bushy white mustache. He was wearing glasses and a long smock like doctors put on. I only saw him for a second. He held up something in his hand and there was this fireworks display. Next thing I knew, I was ankling along the pavement."
"Oh Cripes. Not another Mad Scientist. We've had two of them in the past year. There was that freak Cogitus with a head like a watermelon. And Dr whatever his name was, Dr Charybdis. Complete fruitcakes. One claimed he could start earthquakes and wanted extortion money to keep Manhattan safe, the other was trying to make an army of mindless slaves. I blame you mystery men for those lunatics."
"Wait, what? Why blame.. well, us?"
"Because you guys in the masks and costumes started chasing crooks and suddenly the bad guys got all weird too. I think you and Mark Drum and the Sceptre inspire those nuts to give themselves dopey names as well. Did you know Samhain has been reported in the metropolitan area?"
"Who?"
"Never mind. You're better off not knowing." He started up the engine, glanced to see if anyone had been within sight, and eased out into the street.
Slumped back in the passenger seat, Kelly mumbled, "Guess I'm not half as clever as I thought I was. But hold the presses. I must have walked home to get my suitcase and then come straight to see you. I felt compelled to give away my biggest secret! Jim, I ran into the guy who's behind the attacks of odd behavior lately!"
"Ho, the light dawns!" Harkins laughed. "You know, sweetie, you have a positive gift for finding trouble and diving in. Maybe you are a natural born reporter. Yeah, we're heading right now to the area where all this happened. You feel up to it?"
"Sure. I'm full of spit and vinegar. You want a snappy costume, too? Something with a cape?"
IV.
Back near Times Square, still unusually deserted because of the freezing mist and wind, Jim Harkins parked across the street from the Shogren Clinic and scowled more than usual. "Here's where you stay out of trouble for once," he said. "Whoever is behind this, they know you. So I will check out the door you saw the two Oriental dames come out of. Then I'll give the alley a once-over. Meanwhile, you park your keister here, understand?"
"Where's the fun in that?"
"Never mind 'fun.' This could be dangerous. You saw two goons ready to rough up some poor sap. There might be mobsters behind this, maybe even Axis agents. Promise me you'll stay put."
Kelly squeezed up against his side and laughed deep in her throat. "I never make promises I can't keep. But... Jim, be extra careful. I saw you lock your gun in the glovebox."
"Along with my badge. Just in case. I want to find you here when I get back." He gave Kelly a long thoughtful gaze and they both moved their heads closer to kiss briefly. Then he took off.
On the red brick building, the specified door had the number 118 on it, above a brass plaque that read Shogren EXHILIRATION CLINIC. It was unlocked. Harkins entered a rather Art Deco lobby of sweeping chrome strips and white marble, with uncomfortable-looking metal furniture, all brightly lit enough to dazzle. From behind a kidney-shaped desk, a young woman in a snug white smock stood up and came around to greet him.
Seen close up, she was gorgeous as a screen star, with flawless ivory skin and a sleek understated figure. The straight black hair which reached to her waist shone under the lights. Despite propaganda pamphlets from the War Department, Harkins couldn't tell a Japanese from a Chinese or a Korean. He didn't know anyone in his department who could and he honestly doubted if most Asians could either. But he knew a beautiful woman when he saw one.
Then she spoke, with a strong Scandanavian accent that startled him. "Good evening, sir. My name is April. Have you been recommended to us?"
"Eh? Oh, no. Someone mentioned your place, that's all. I thought it might do me good. I'm a wreck, can't sleep."
"I quite understand," she said. "The dreadful world situation. Naturally, everyone is tense and worried. Well, I believe we may offer you a free complimentary session, sir, and at the end if you wish to leave a donation, certainly it will be welcome." She clapped her hands softly and two women emerged from around a gleaming partition. Except from having their hair done up in an elaborate swirl held by wooden skewers, they seemed nearly identical to April.
"May, June, please take this gentleman through our process." Seeing the bemused expression on Harkness' face, she gifted him with a dazzling smile. "Our names are not really April, May and June, of course. We thought our real names might be too unfamiliar for Americans. I am Mjordis and my sisters here are Hildestag and Mitte-Anne."
Harkins only nodded agreeably and was led to a small disrobing chamber. May and June stepped back outside for a moment. As he stripped and donned a thin cotton robe provided for him, he was glad he had left his wallet and gun behind. All he had on him was some money and his keys. As he tied the sash, he was joined again by the two women who seemed positively eager to get started. In another tiny cubicle, he leaned back and had his hands and feet scrubbed with hot soapy water, then his lower arms and calves washed as well. They rubbed him briskly dry with rough towels. One of the women worked a faintly fragrant oil into his hair and brushed it. Off to one side was a porcelain table with a shower attachment and drains in the floor; Harkins realized that some of the bolder customers received a full washing up there.
During this procedure, May and June chatted with each other and made an occasional remark to Harkins which he could not quite catch. They weren't speaking Japanese or Chinese, he was sure of that much. Norwegian, maybe? This place was called the 'Shogren Clinic,' after all. He found their lively chatter amusing and even endearing, despite his determination to remain on his guard here.
Next, he was escorted into still another small room. This one was dimly lit and comfortably warm and dry. A wide table in the center space was padded and had a circular hole at one end. May and June tugged his robe down off his shoulders to leave his torso bare but left his midsection covered, and indicated he should lie down on the table. His face dropped naturally into the opening provided and a raised section at the other end raised his ankles so his feet was comfortable. Harkins fought back a sigh of relief. Most of his assignments involved watching someone from the front seat of his car and trudging from door to door asking questions. He could get used to this.
Rubbing warm oil into their hands, May and June began a vigorous massage. They were much stronger than their size might indicate. Those little fingers dug deep into the tight muscles in his back and neck, loosening knots and easing tension. Soon, the women were bending his arms and legs out to their full range of motion, twisting and stretching the joints.
Even though it was tempting to drift into a vague reverie, Harkins' mind seldom stopped working. He thought about Kelly's revelation earlier. It was true that he had figured out the Green Devil's game early on. Kelly and the Devil turned up in the same area too often for coincidence, Kelly's explanations were sometimes too flimsy, and Kelly's stories in the MESSENGER sometimes included details about crimes that only a witness could have known. Someone who didn't know her personally might never have picked up on these clues, of course.
Eventually, the womens' hands stroked lighter and lighter until they were teasing feather strokes. One of them whispered, "Close eyes please. You turn over now."
Although he compliantly swing over onto his back with a grunt, Harkins could not resist peeking out through barely opened eyelids. He never expected to see that both women were wearing rubber goggles with thick circular lenses which gave them a grotesque appearance. Before he could speak, one of them flipped a toggle switch by the door with a click. The room disappeared into a blinding pattern of swirling lights that filled the air with sparks and spokes moving like a whirlpool. Sharp pain exploded in his head and then there was the soothing blackness of unconsciousness.
V.
Kelly O'Connor always ran out of patience easily. Dusk had fallen early, and the foggy conditions had deteriorated into a chilling drizzle. Few pedestrians passed by, walking slowly and placing their feet down flat to avoid falling. The cars crawled past, not trusting their brakes. There would be few witnesses to any dark deed. It was a night made for horror and adventure and mystery. And here she sat, arms folded, fuming, while Jim Harkins hoarded all the excitement to hiself.
She wasn't aware of reaching a decision but suddenly she was wriggling out of her clothing and tugging on the Green Devil costume. It wasn't the first time she had changed outfits in a car, and Jim's big old Nash certainly provided a good deal more room than her tiny roadster. The hiking boots, tough denim pants and leather jacket were all so dark a green as to be almost black. She fastened the silk bandanna mask over her head again and then lowered the crash helmet over that. Now her heart was pounding. She had come to live for this, the jolt of adrenalin burning through her veins like mercury. Kelly tugged on the wrist-length leather gloves, took a few deep breaths and hopped out of the car when she was sure no one was watching. She dashed across the icy street with her deep-tread boots giving her traction and was pressed up against the alley again in an instant.
Now, that her head had cleared from whatever craziness that Mad Scientist had done to her, Kelly was glad to realize that Jim knew her secret. The tension of wondering when he would find out, or whether she should reveal herself to him, had been hanging over her head. Her basic optimism immediately concluded that he would want to help her, driving her to crime scenes, providing distractions to cover her coming and going, being basically her sidekick. In return, he could take credit for nabbing crooks that the Green Devil hauled in, she wouldn't mind.
Entering the alley, almost invisible in the rain and gloom in her dark costume, Kelly began poking around. It was too much to hope that the bad guys had conveniently dropped a book of matches from the nightclub where they met, or maybe a European cigarette only sold in one store in Manhattan. Still, once or twice, she had enjoyed improbable strokes of fortune like that and it was worth searching.
No such luck tonight. The Green Devil made a disgusted clucking noise and went over to the single door in the side of the delapidated building facing her. There were no windows, and the brick wall had faded letters from decades earlier which read PRINTING AND SUPPLIES. The Shogren Clinic clearly was the only occupant of this ruin. Kelly crouched by the door, constantly looking around for any observers. Usually she didn't go into action until the wee hours of the morning and she felt very exposed being out so early. Although she had no idea how to pick locks, she had purchased a set of keys from a minor underworld stooge who had assured her that they would open at least seventy per cent of the locks she might encounter. She had begun carrying the keys in her jacket along with a few other useful items like a pencil flashlight and a Swiss Army knife. A mystery woman had to be prepared.
But the knob turned easily in her hand and she swung the door outward. I'm in luck tonight, she thought just before several strong hands seized her and yanked her bodily inside.
For the next thirty seconds, Kelly gave her best impression of a furious bobcat. Wriggling, kicking, clawing and punching, she did everything but arch her back and hiss. She got free immediately, was knocked down by an open-hand slap and leaped back up again to catch a knotted fist right in the pit of her stomach. That doubled her up. All she could focus on after that was forcing back vomit. She vaguely felt her wrists and ankles being seized and then she was being carried quickly down a narrow hallway. By the time she felt she was not going to throw up inside her helmet, Kelly had been tossed unceremoniously across a room and skidded across the floor to find herself sitting up against a heavy drapery.
"Nice digs," she observed mildly, rubbing her sore abdomen and taking in her surroundings. Considerable money had been expended to create this den, from the overstuffed leather armchairs to the wall shelves packed with thick old volumes, to the deep plush carpeting. Everything was in dark brown, except for the burgundy-colored drapes which hung over every wall and even concealed the door. Sitting next to a end table which held a Tiffany lamp and a decanter of brandy sat an imposing old man who was staring at her as if she had appeared in a puff of smoke.
Rising to his feet, placing his snifter down carefully, the man stood only an inch over feet tall, well-dressed in a tan suit with a matching vest although his tie was loosened and the top button of his shirt undone. Thick bristly white hair and a white brush mustache would have demanded more attention, but this man wore a pair of rubber goggles which thick lenses through which his eyes could not be seen and those goggles distracted from everything else.
"The dame came back, boss," muttered one of the big bruisers who had carried her in here. "Guess she don't take hints easy."
"It would seem not," agreed the old man in a strong Norwegian accent. "This is the same young woman we processed this afternoon?"
"Yep. Different masquerade suit but it's her. Lou and me figgered you might want to ask her a few questions before... well, you know."
The old man rubbed his chin, sighed and gestured to the two goons. "Lou, Eddie, I want you to finishing packing up my laboratory equipment. We will be moving on tonight. That this vigilante has started investigating our operation is a bad sign. She is obviously a mere dilettante but I have no wish to clash with the Monk or Dr Vitarius."
"We're on it, Doc," said the other thug. "Most of your stuff is already in the trucks." With that, the two men went behind a tapestry and left through the concealed door.
Although she felt capable of going into action, Kelly remained seated on the floor for the moment. "That 'dilettante' crack hurt, buster. I've been putting in my time crookbusting for two years now."
"I believe you should know with whom you are dealing, young lady," said the old man as he seated himself again. He crossed his legs, revealing he had replaced dress shoes with bedroom slippers. "I am the Baron Egil Shogren. I am the foremost proponent of what we in the community refer to as borderland research... delving into secrets beyond what mundane physics entails."
"Oh, you're a Mad Scientist," she replied. "I heard about you guys. Cogitus and Dr Whats-His-Name."
"Choose your words carefully, miss. Your life is likely to be short enough as it is. You are known as the Green Devil. Rumors are that you can somehow deflect bullets with your hands while not being injured. Trusted agents of mine have reported seeing this."
"Well, yeah, it's true. What can I say, we all have our talents, you know?"
Baron Shogren lifted his goggles and placed them up on his forehead, revealing he had a marked single eyelid fold. The distinctly Asian face and the Scandanavian accent produced an unexpected dissonance. "I feel there may be a way to duplicate your ability. It could be useful. Perhaps dissection will not be necessary, perhaps only some brain tissue will be needed."
"Whoa, whoa, put on the brakes," she said, sitting up straighter. "I'm sure we can work things out without my brain tissue being dug outta my poor skull. That's taking liberties. Who are you again? How come your borderland research is so far ahead of what regular eggheads are doing?"
"Ah, the answer can be found in a single word. Zhune. That means nothing to you of course. Before recorded history, in the blind spot between Ice Ages where archaeologists dare not look too closely, this world's first civilization produced men of genius. They invented machines which could let men walk through walls, switch minds from one brain to another, shrink a horse to the size of a mouse and much more. They even solved the ultimate secret of the universe, converting energy to matter and matter to energy."
"Oh, come ON! Pull the other leg already!"
Shogren snorted. "This is not common knowledge, child. Few have even heard of Zhune. Sadly, the artifacts I have managed to retrieve have long since lost their charge. Using incredibly expensive amounts of electricity, I have only been able to bring a single minor Zhune relic up to usuable standards. The Divulger."
"Ohhh. Now I get it." Kelly had drawn her knees up to conceal what she was doing behind her back. "That's why I was acting so dopey today. You used your Zoom thingie on me."
"ZHUNE! Not Zoom. Why do I waste my time with an uneducated American wench?" He got to his feet again, smacking one fist into the other open palm. "You are hopeless."
"We uneducated wenches are full of surprises," the Green Devil laughed as the drapes behind her burst into flames. She rolled over and ignited another drape with the cigarette lighter from her jacket, then hopped nimbly to her feet. Baron Shogren was rushing her. Kelly planted her feet, drew an arm back to her ear and smacked a perfect right cross to the side of the man's jaw. The Baron toppled to sprawl on the carpeting, not entirely unconscious but not exactly in any condition to be a threat.
Behind the visor of her devil-horned helmet, Kelly grinned. Constantly facing opponents way out of her weight class and much taller as well, she cheated. Across her knuckles under the gloves were thin strips of lead she had patiently hammered into the right shape.
The flickering glare and stink of black smoke reminded her that not only were the hangings on fire, the flames were spreading quickly. Time to get going. She had not forgotten Jim was somewhere in this building.
VI.
Out in the narrow corridors, she found a series of rooms that she faintly remembered, as if she had seen them in childhood. Her memories of having been in this nightmarish facility were muted by the mind-altering experience that Baron Shogren had put her through. There was the shower room. The room with the massage table. And there was a room with simple sleeping mats on the floor and a charcoal-burning stove for cooking food. That must be where the women slept. Starting to panic as the smell of smoke grew stronger, Kelly rounded a corner in time to collide with May and June, who were carrying notebooks and bundles of papers. Seizing one of them by the blouse front, the Green Devil slammed the woman up against a wall so hard that a framed picture fell off.
"The man who came in here before! An hour ago! Where is he?" Kelly screamed in a voice that seemed alien to herself.
"He has already left!" yelled the Shogren woman in obvious terror, struggling to get out of the grip of this strange helmeted creature who had grabbed her. Kelly released the woman and heard a door slam from the rear of the building. The Baron escaping? Maybe, but it didn't seem important at the moment. Finding Jim was all that mattered. She plunged through another door to find herself in the lobby. Kelly raced outside into the night, seeing a few stray citizens starting to gather on the slick sidewalks. Strange wavering shadows were being cast and she looked back to see gouts of flame licking out from the boarded up second floor windows.
Not wanting anyone to get a good look at her, the Green Devil hurtled across the street and around the corner to find Jim Harkins standing by his Nash, starting to open the driver's door. Knowing he might be in a daze as she had been earlier, Kelly boldly manhandled him around to the other side of the car and shoved him into the passenger seat before hustling to get behind the wheel herself. She started the powerful engine, slid out onto Tenth Avenue and started heading south. There were no signs of any fire trucks yet.
Had Baron Shogren escaped, with his three women accomplices? Right now, she didn't really care much. As she drove, Kelly tugged off her helmet and then the mask, tossing them into the back seat. She had put a dozen blocks behind them when she finally pulled into an empty parking spot, sliding a bit on the icy street. Finally, she felt she could breathe freely as she turned to Harkins.
"Jim? Jim, are you okay? Are you all dopey like I was today?" she asked.
"No, I feel fine," came the subdued monotone answer. "But there is something I want to show you, Red."
"Oh, right." She felt relieved at understanding he was basically unharmed. "The Divulger. That gadget makes you reveal your biggest secret. Go ahead, Jim, you're a decent guy... how bad can it be?"
Harkins had reached under the seat and come up with a small black box that fit in his hand. "I was going to keep this hidden. I know it's much too soon for this, Kelly. It's not the right time."
He handed the box to her, and she opened it to feel the strongest, most bittersweet pang in her chest she had ever known. The box held a simple gold ring with a single diamond. "Oh, honey..." she whispered, not sure if she could trust herself to speak out loud. Kelly pressed her hands to both his cheeks. "I promise, someday it will be the right time."
7/30/2019
