 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
Introduction
Monthly Poll
2001 Archive
2002 Archive
2003 Archive
2005 Archive
Sequel Poll
2001 Archive
2005 Archive
2009 Archive
Fan Fiction
Fan Art
Tidbits
Movie
In Print
Radio
T.V.
Miscellaneous
Events
Site Map
Guestbook
Forum
Fan Fiction: Short Stories
Chapter 3:
Lamont is Puzzled LAMONT CRANSTON awoke to early morning sunlight streaming in through the
bedroom window. He heard the door handle turn and looked over to see Margo Lane
coming in with a cup. "Good morning," she said. Shrevy was waiting outside when Lamont emerged. Having no time for a shower, he only had a brief moment to splash some water on his face and throw on a suit. He slid into the rear seat and shut the door. "The Sanctum," was all he had to say. Ten minutes later, he was dropping into his chair before the communication rig. The silver disc irised to reveal a grainy black-and-white image of the mysterious Burbank. "Report," he said. "Our 26th precinct agent reports an incident of robbery at a bank on 3rd and Harmon during the night. The guard reported being attacked. The vault was opened with explosives and emptied. The guard gave a strange report of his assailants." "Strange?" "He reported they moved slowly, as if exhausted, and emitted a foul smell similar to fish. Another man was also present, different from the others. He appeared to be in charge." Lamont mused for a moment, then said, "Understood," and shut the rig off. The robed man stood before an array of candles arranged in ceremonial-like patterns atop a table, some on blocks, others in wrought-iron holders. Hidden in shadows from the waist up, he lit the final candle and turned, shaking the match out. He crossed the room to a second table, where stacks of neatly arranged money sat. He picked up a stack and thumbed through it, smiling in satisfaction and setting it back down. "You've done well," he said. The dark figures were in the room with him, standing together in the darkness. "You've done very well. But there are more jobs to me done, more money to collect. I will require your services again tonight. But for now, you must rest. Return to your room and sleep." Without any sign that they had heard or even understood, they turned and shuffled toward the door slowly. Stepping from the shadows and into the light, Miguel Gustavo said, "The city will soon witness the power of the Zombie Master." "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Margo Lane asked. Beside her, Lamont was looking at the painting before them, but he seemed to be staring right through it, his thoughts elsewhere. "Lamont? Lamont?" She put a hand on his arm, and that seemed to bring him out of his trance. "What? Oh. I'm sorry, Margo. I was just thinking." "About that robbery?" He nodded, glancing about to make sure noone was around. "Yes," he said. "What kind of a crimianl emits the foul smell of fish?" "Maybe it was a bunch of fisherman who needed some quick money," she said. He looked at her with a scarcastic grin. "Very funny. Yes, it is beautiful," he said in reply to her original question. After leaving the Sanctum, he had returned to pick up Margo to go to the museum, a trip they had been planning for well over three weeks, but had kept getting postponed thanks to Lamont's hectic life as The Shadow. But now they were finally there, and he couldn't even enjoy the displays because he kept thinking about the report of the robbery. "This is one of my favorites," Margo said, pointing at one of the next paintings. "I've loved it since I was a little girl." As she stood there admiring the image, Lamont again found his mind wandering back to what he had been told. Slow-moving robbers who smelled like fish. What kind of a description was that?, he asked himself. True, he had encountered some bizarre criminals before, but this particular incident struck him as the most strange in awhile. "Maybe we should go," a voice suggested. Tearing himself away from his thoughts again, he realized it was Margo who had spoke, and he said, "Excuse me?" "Maybe we should go," she repeated. "You're obviously occupied with this and don't want to be here." "No, no, that's okay. I'm sorry. It's just bizarre. I'll try to focus on being here," he said with a smile. "Let's finish here, then go get something for lunch." "Okay," she said, and they walked on to the next painting. Miguel Gustavo stood in the center of the room, bathed in soft light. He wore only a pair of loose pants, his feet and chest bare. His long hair, normally pulled tight behind his head, was hanging free, dangling just past his shoulders. His arms outstretched before him, he held in his fists an ornate handle with a slightly-curved hilt, protruding from which was a shiny blade of curved steel. His eyes closed, Gustavo breathed deeply, relaxing. He stood motionless for a brief moment, then suddenly burst into a frantic state of movement. The sword seemed to swing in every direction, his hands experting taking turns holding the handle as he performed certain moves. He spun in circles and slashed the sword through the air, all the while performing a breathing technique that allowed him to maintain a steady breath. His bare feet moved across the wood floor quietly. Only the blade seemed to be making any noise as it sliced back and forth. With a final spin and slash, Gustavo came to a stop in a crouched position, both hands clutching the sword, the blade held horizontally before his face. His breathing was incredible. He looked as if he hadn't taken a single step. He stood sharply and brought the sword in toward him, holding the blade inches from his face. Eyes closed, he inhaled and exhaled softly, then opened his eyes and seemed to stare past the blade. A ringing caught his attention, and he turned only his head to look. A small clock on a table nearby was signaling him of the time he wanted to be alerted to. Breaking from his stance, he walked over and set the sword back onto its display stand, then grabbed his shirt from the back of a chair and headed out of the room. At dinnertime, Lamont and Margo were seated at their usual table at the Cobalt Club. The band was playing a quiet instrumental song as a few couples danced. The two of them were looking over their menus, deciding what they wanted. "I think I'm finally going to get around to trying the prime rib," Lamont said. "Uncle Wainwright's been suggesting it for awhile now. What about you?" "Not sure yet," she said, glacing over the offerings of the menu. "Maybe chicken. Maybe pasta. The food here is so good I never know what to pick." Deciding he would get the prime rib, Lamont closed his menu and set it down, giving his ring a glance. It was habit he had tought himself to do, to give the watch regular glances to see if he was being signaled. So far, in all his years of wearing it, it had only interrupted his Colbalt Club outings twice, both of which occured while he was eating with his uncle, an intrusion the police commissioner didn't care for, as he made it known on both occasions. It would have been easier to explain his sudden need to leave as a result of a need for his crimefighting persona, but he instead had to make up excuses, like something had just come to his attention that couldn't wait, or there was a meeting or other engagement that had slipped his mind and he needed to fill it. His uncle ultimately forgave him both times when Lamont bought him a bottle of whiskey. Good ol' Uncle Wainwright, he thought to himself. A nice bottle of whiskey always gets him back on his good side. The music ending brought Lamont back from his thoughts, and he looked to see the club's main attraction, Loren Shinoa, taking to the stage. He looked back at Margo. "Would you care to dance?" She looked up from her menu, still undecided on what to order. "Right now?" "Why not?" he asked, standing. "We've got plenty of time. Come on." He offered his hand. She laid her menu down and stood, taking his hand, and walked with him out onto the dance floor. Lamont being one of the club's best-known regulars, many eyes were on them as they stepped into the center of the floor, among the others who were already there to dance. The song started, and they began to dance. They moved around the floor, his hand holding her's, his other around her waist. "People are watching," she said quietly. He smiled, already knowing. "I know," he said. When the music ended, they smiled in amusement as the crowd applauded for them. As the next song started and the dancing resumed, they walked back to their table and took their seats. A young waiter came up. "Are we ready to order?" he asked, producing a pad and pen. "Yes, we are," Lamont said, smiling as Margo quickly grabbed her menu to try to decide what she wanted. The car braked near a dumpster and turned off, and the driver climbed out. Miguel Gustavo, wearing a buttoned trench coat, tugged down on the brim of his Fedora as he walked forward toward the nearest warehouse. The large roll-up door began to open, stopping just enough to allow entrance. A short Chinese man came out from inside, wearing a coat and a sports cap pulled low, smoking a cigarette. He took a final puff as Gustavo approached, then dropped it to the ground and smashed it under his heel. "Cold night, huh?" he asked, attempting to make conversation. Gustavo wasn't interested in small talk. "You have the shipment?" Realizing the man's urge to get straight to business, he nodded and said, "Right here." He stepped back inside to where a small car was parked. He quickly retrieved the keys from his pocket and opened the trunk, removing a dark blanket to reveal three large boxes. Gustavo smiled. "Excellent," he said. "Help me bring them to my car." With that he turned and headed back outside, leaving him to do all the work. "I knew he was gonna do that," he commented to himself, lifting the first box. "Evening, Miss. Lane," Shrevy said as Margo and Lamont climbed into the back of the cab. "Evening, Shrevy," she replied with a smile. Lamont closed the door and said, "Margo's place." Shrevy turned back to the wheel and pulled away from the curb. As they rode, Margo said, "I had a great time today. The museum, lunch, dinner. It was fun." Lamont smiled ashamedly. "I wish my thoughts hadn't preoccupied the day as much as they did." "Oh, that's okay. Believe me, I can understand you wanting to find out exactly what it was. It is bizarre." "I was thinking maybe tomorrow night we'd go see something on Broadway." Margo's eyes lit up, clearly excited. "Like what?" Lamont shrugged. "I'll call in the morning and see what's playing." Ten minutes later, Lamont climbed back into the cab after walking Margo to her place and kissing her goodnight. "So where to now, boss?" Shrevy asked as he pulled back into the street. Lamont didn't answer right away. He seemed to be thinking. "Do you have today's paper with you?" "Yeah. Right here." Shrevy picked up the folded paper from the passenger seat and handed it over the back of the seat to him. "Just drive for now," Lamont said, and began reading the front page story on the bank robbery. |
© copyright 2003 - Present
The Shadow: Master of Darkness
The Shadow is copyrighted by Advance Magazine Publishers, Inc. Disclaimer
The Shadow: Master of Darkness
The Shadow is copyrighted by Advance Magazine Publishers, Inc. Disclaimer