Chapter 3 Unlucky Lucky Loo

An unusual sound permeated the room, like the wind singing through icy fjords. It seemed to come from everywhere in the room, from no one place. The low sound was melodious but had no tune. Neither Doc nor Johnny showed any surprise or alarm at the weird emanation. This was because the sound came from Doc Savage himself. In moments of intense concentration, Doc unconsciously made the trilling noise. He had picked it up in the Far East while studying mental discipline from a Yogi master many years earlier. At this moment, Doc was struggling with the apparent fact that five men had been turned to stone--a fact that most would consider an impossible one. Yet here it was, and here they were. From the victrola came the click-click-click of the needle having reached the end of the celluloid recorded disc. As Doc moved closer to examine the stone men, Johnny went to the Victrola and removed the needle from the record. Doc recognized the five stone men as the remaining dinner guests of the International Geologists League: Geraldo Nunez, Del N. Tester, Uri R. W. Mally, Turner Maitland and Little Jimmy Lannon, all prominent scientists in the field of geology. Doc's features were grim as he inspected the glass-like figures. The change in his expression at the sight of the stone Lannon was imperceptible, but close observation would have revealed a storm raging in Doc's flake-gold eyes. The swirling effect grew intense, the flakes of gold seemingly tossed about by unseen winds of unusual violence. Doc carefully reached out and touched one of the stone men, Nunez, the expert from Mexico. "He" was smooth, hard, just as "he" appeared to be. "Silicate," Doc said softly. He turned to Johnny. "Find a telephone and call the police." "Right, Doc." The bony geologist disappeared out the oak doors leading to the foyer, following the bronze man's instructions. Doc Savage also searched for a telephone, finding one in a drawing room off the banquet hall. The room was done in dark wood and matching colors; the effect was subdued, austere. Mineralogical samples were on display as knick-knacks on shelves and tables. The man of bronze dialed the private unlisted number at his New York headquarters. A robot answering device was often used on Doc's listed telephone number, the one people called when they wanted help or money. All of Doc's aides knew to answer the unlisted line when it rang, if any were present. It meant another of the group was calling. A buzzer sounded. Long Tom knew the tone of the buzzer indicated it was Doc Savage's unlisted telephone line. Each of the lines sounded a different tone, so they could be easily distinguished. The puny-looking electrician hauled himself up from his stool, and, using his cane for support, hobbled to the nearest telephone. "Hello? Doc?" Long Tom said into the receiver. "I think I've just about got this thing figured out--" He listened intently for several minutes, during which the man of bronze rattled off instructions to him. Words were not wasted. The lemon-dispositioned electrician took notes as Doc spoke. From memory, Doc Savage listed the numbers of several cases of equipment that were to be sent to San Francisco with Renny, who happened to be in Manhattan. He was the last of Doc's assistants, the civil engineer. When Long Tom finally hung up the receiver, he swore briefly. "And me with this bum leg!" He was an excitement-lover as much as any of the others in Doc's band of adventurers. He hated to be left out of an exciting situation, the kind it seemed this one was shaping up to be. Excitement--and admiration for Doc Savage--was the glue that bonded the group together. Doc made a second telephone call, then returned to the banquet hall, where Johnny was examining the "stone men". "They appear to be quartzitic", the bony geologist commented, confirming Doc's earlier observation. "If they are statues of some kind, they are very good replicas. And very unusual ones. Obsidian is the devil to work with." Johnny suddenly noticed a ring on a finger of one of the statue-like figures--a metal ring. It was a class ring. Yale, 1922. "Doc, I have an unpleasant feeling about this". Silence greeted this announcement. It was Doc's habit to remain quiet on a subject until he was sure of his facts. It saved him the possibility of embarrassment later if he had spoken out of turn, but more importantly, it didn't lead the thinking of his men astray; they were all experienced men of the world as well as being experts in their fields, and their unbiased opinions had proven valuable in many past situations. His men had become accustomed to the habit over the years, but it annoyed nearly everyone who met Doc. Shortly thereafter, the police arrived. In the meantime, Doc and Johnny had searched the building as carefully as possible given the short time available to them, and found nothing out of the ordinary or helpful in explaining the presence of the glassy figures in the banquet hall of the sombre building. The building was completely normal but for the dining hall, and the obvious preparations leading to the banquet therein. The hall itself was the only room where anything was amiss. Doc found portions of wood in the banquet room--such as the parquet floor--also turned to stone. He collected samples of these, storing them in compartments in his many-pocketed vest. Scuff marks on the parquet floor told the bronze man several men had entered and left the hall in a hurry, wearing shoes unlike those of the guests. Doc Savage gave the police the short version of events--he and Johnny arrived at the scheduled dinner of the International Geologists League, and found the other members apparently turned to stone. No witnesses, no clues, no suspects. The kind of case the police don't like. Doc omitted telling them about the telephone call he had received on Wednesday from Little Jimmy Lannon; it had been vague, and Denver, Colorado was out of the jurisdiction of the San Francisco police department. Doc Savage had finished talking to the uniformed officers when a civilian automobile pulled into the drive. Doc saw a young, blond man with an athletic build get out of the subdued coupe and, approaching Doc, wave identification at the uniformed police. One spoke briefly with him. He was obviously the plainclothes detective assigned to the case. The detective reached the spot Doc was standing. He was well-tanned, golden-skinned, had a pleasant face, and an alarming shock of straw-colored hair that seemed to have the tendency to not stay in place. He wore a concerned look on his face as he showed his badge to Doc. "Detective Chester Bester, San Francisco police. You don't have to tell me who you are, Mr. Savage. Or would you prefer 'Doctor'?" Without giving the bronze man time to respond, Detective Bester added, "Trouble seems to follow you wherever you go." "'Mister' or 'Doc' will do," Doc said without the slightest trace of annoyance. Chester Bester colored slightly. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded, Mr. Savage. I have the greatest respect for the work you do, and it's an honor to meet you. I hope you'll respect the fact that I have a job to do here." "Of course," Doc replied, adding, "I have a commission with the New York City police department, and a similar arrangement with Federal authorities." "I'm aware of your reputation and authority," Chester Bester said. "I can't let you run this investigation, but I'd be grateful for any help you can give me. Unofficially," he added, lowering his voice, "point me in the right direction and I'll run with it. All I ask is that you don't make me look like a fool at the end of this thing." "Of course not. I have the highest regard for the police," the bronze man replied. "Unfortunately, I know neither the means nor the motive for this situation, whatever it may be. I have told your officers all the pertinent information I have." Chester Bester "hmf"-ed to himself in a disappointed manner. He had never handled as strange a case as this one. He was baffled. "I suggest that you attempt to locate the members of the League," Doc recommended. "If they can be found, it would prove that these 'stone men' are a hoax." "That's right," Chester Bester agreed good-naturedly. He turned to leave, to start the search, then spun back toward Doc. "And where can you be found?" Doc Savage named the famous hotel on Nob Hill where he and Johnny were registered. "I'd like custody of the stone figures in order to study them." "I'll arrange it," yelled Chester Bester over his shoulder as he departed. Later, in the banquet hall, Johnny joined Doc. "Asking the police to search for the other members of the League was to keep the police from getting in the way of our investigation, wasn't it?" "We do need to know if the geologists are missing," Doc pointed out. It was Doc's strict policy never to lie, directly. There had been times when he had not told the entire truth, told just enough truth to mislead the listener, but he almost never lied flat out. Asking the police to find the geologists was a good example of this. He had told Detective Chester Bester the truth, as far as it went. And Doc, as the verbose geologist had observed, did not need the police underfoot, like cats needing attention at the wrong time. Johnny sometimes found Doc's hair-splitting amusing. John "Renny" Renwick was a freak of a man. He stood six foot-four and weighed two hundred and fifty pounds. But that wasn't the freakish part. His hands were oversized; they belonged on a giant. Each probably wouldn't have fit in a two-quart pail and were heavily scarred from use. Renny's one vice was busting the panels out of wooden doors. He claimed there hadn't yet been one made which could stand up to his monstrosity of a fist. So far he hadn't been proven wrong. Renny's long face was sombre as he prepared his plane--a big amphibian which he kept at an uptown harbor--for the flight to San Francisco. He looked as though he was tending to the planning of a funeral instead of a routine flight. Perversely, Renny appeared gloomiest when he was happiest, and he was happy now because he knew Doc Savage's call meant excitement. The big man blocked and unblocked the massive clubs of bone and gristle--and little else--as he watched the dials and meters in the cockpit. It was the middle of the night in New York, pitch-black. The moon was only the slenderest sliver of a crescent, the new moon having just occurred. As he sent the plane aloft, Renny recalled Long Tom's description of the situation in San Francisco: famous geologists turned to stone. It had only been a couple of years since Doc and his group had encountered a "stone man"; it turned out that a chemical which could freeze-dry people had been discovered and was being put to horrible use. Renny set about the task of guiding his ship toward the west coast. The police had been gone from the International Geologists League building for some time when a panel truck arrived there. A faded bluish-green color, it was unmarked and looked in good condition, despite being a few years old. An oriental man departed the vehicle and went toward the building. The worthy was dressed plainly, in casual American attire. He was of average height and his age was probably in the middle thirties. But his face showed signs of a hard life. His nose had been broken at least once, and there were too many lines on his face for one his age. Beneath one eye, a small white scar stood out plainly. "Hello," he called out, into the building. His voice echoed in the vast room of the banquet hall. Years spent in America had not completely wiped the last trace of a Cantonese accent from his speech. "An unanticipated xenophile," a voice said suddenly--too suddenly--from the worthy's side. The oriental gave a start. The man who stood there might have been a scarecrow but for the absence of straw. "I'm looking for Doc Savage," the oriental explained. "He sent for me. My name's Lucky Loo." "An apparent misappellation." "What?" Lucky's face screwed up in confusion at Johnny's language. "An obfuscating praenomen", Johnny reiterated. It was his way of saying that Lucky's name didn't fit him. The bony geologist realized that this was a man Doc Savage had sent for, after telephoning Long Tom in New York, as Doc had explained to Johnny later. Lucky Loo was a "graduate" of Doc Savage's "college", a facility the man of bronze maintained in upstate New York to rehabilitate criminals he had captured during the course of his career. It was Doc's policy to never take a life. Treatment consisted of surgery to remove the memories of the patient, followed by a combination of drug and behavioral therapy to prevent the graduate from going back to his criminal lifestyle. Completing the rehabilitation process was Doc Savage finding gainful employment for the graduates in any number of ways. Some, he found jobs for. He owned respectable shares of companies in a wide variety of industries, including factories, mining, airlines and hotels. Others he help set up in business for themselves. Many served in a worldwide detective agency Doc had started years earlier to gather information for him. Although a secret, the place had come under attack twice the year before. Johnny had commented that Lucky wasn't "lucky"; Doc had captured him years ago, and sent him to the college. Upon reflection, Johnny decided that Lucky was indeed lucky, because Doc Savage giving him a second chance was probably the best thing that had ever happened to him. All of Doc's graduates were grateful to Doc for this second chance, although they never knew exactly the circumstances under which it had come about. And none had ever returned to a life of crime. "Doc," Johnny called out loudly, "Lucky's here." The process of moving the stone men was a slow, tedious one. Doc Savage, Johnny and Lucky Loo carefully wrapped each figure in a padded blanket, then strapped it to a hand truck and hauled it out to the panel truck. Particular care was made to not make any limb a focal point of stress; each stone man was tied to the hand truck around the torso, according to Doc's instructions. Each statue was lifted into the panel truck by Doc Savage, who seemed not to realize that each stone figure weighed several hundred pounds. If he did, the bronze man didn't show it. When the five stone men had been carefully secured in the rear of the panel truck, Lucky put the vehicle into motion. It jumped slightly as he disengaged the clutch. "Careful, Lucky," Doc Savage reminded. "Of course, boss," Lucky replied cheerfully. "Where are we going, Doc?" Johnny inquired. "The boss had me find a warehouse we could use for a few days," Lucky answered quickly, before Doc could speak. As the panel truck lurched suddenly, Johnny thought Lucky wasn't paying as much attention to the road as he might have been. "When Renny arrives with the equipment I need to complete analysis of the 'statues'," Doc said, expanding on Lucky's explanation of their destination, "he will bring it to the warehouse we will be using as a temporary base of operations." The bronze man added grimly, "Hopefully, we will not need it more than a few days."

The Stone Death Written By: Jeff Deischer Dedicated to "Kenneth Robeson X" for his encouragement. The Stone Man is a work of fan fiction. Doc Savage is © Conde Nast Back to: Top of Page Index Page Home Page