Chapter 11
Thunder and Fire
"We must leave here immediately," he said, and he began to pull the chain that lifted the underwater slotted gate. "Can you swim?"
"I can outswim a muskrat," Curly answered.
"Absolutely," Harry said.
"Let's go," Doc said. "Out into the river." He urged both men down the ramp and into the water.
Soon the three were treading water between the massive piers that stretched into the Hudson River and supported the rows of huge warehouses so similar to the one they had just escaped. Doc directed his two companions back toward the dock from which the pier extended. There, the three located a ladder that put them on dry land again.
The daylight was starting to recede, and the dampness weighting the air combined with the growing darkness and the sounds of the river water sloshing against the pier pilings to create an oppressive air.
Harry panted as he stepped from the ladder. He began wringing water from his coattails. "We're safe now," he said.
"Not yet. Follow me," the bronze man said. "Hurry."
They ran half a block unil they reached Doc's car, which was parked out of the direct line of sight from the warehouse they had just left. When Doc motioned for Curly and Harry to climb aboard, Curly balked.
"What about my car?" he asked.
"That crew shooting at us knew someone was snooping inside when they spotted your car on their approach," Doc replied. "And your car won't exist much longer."
"What are you--"
That's when the air rocked with a chain of explosions. The force threw Curly into the car. Doc immediately put the auto into gear and raced away. Harry peered out the back window and saw a massive fireball and a cloud of debris shooting skyward from the point the warehouse had been standing. But that warehouse no longer existed, and the section of the pier upon which it had rested was now crumpling into the river.
"Oh my lord," Harry croaked.
Chunks of wood, stone and metal began falling to the ground where Doc's automobile had just been parked. A fierce black cloud rolled through the air, and the river's surface was repeatedly shattered by falling wreckage.
"Those crates under the tarps," Doc explained as he manouvered the car, "were filled with explosives and linked by a daisychained electric fuse."
"Why?" Harry asked.
"So they could easily destroy any evidence of their work."
"How'd you know?" Curly inquired, having finally caught his breath.
"I suspected you would follow me to make sure I left that gang's hideout, and I saw you tailing my car," Doc answered. "When you left off shadowing me, I started following you. I watched your meeting with Harry Portman, here, and read your lips to determine where you were heading."
"You're full of tricks, ain't you?" Curly said. "I knew you were trouble."
"But he just saved our lives," Harry said.
"Shut up, you!"
"I parked out of sight," Doc continued, "followed you into the place, and stayed out of sight while you scouted around. That's when I found the explosives. While you were in the other room, I heard that other crew arrive and then I warned you."
By this time Doc had pulled up to another warehouse. It, too, looked abandoned, and a sign on its facade read
HIDALGO TRADING CO.
"We'll get dry clothing here," the bronze man said as he opened a door into the sructure for the two men.
As soon as everyone was inside, Curly knocked Harry to the floor with a blow to the chin. "You and your loud mouth! Now they know Savage is in town, you loco, pie-eating numbskull!"
Harry rubbed his jaw and looked up with surprise furrowing his still-damp brow. Doc handed out shirts and trousers from a set of lockers arranged along the wall near the door. "Put these on," the bronze man directed. "I'll have your wet things cleaned and returned to you. I'll have to retreive some shoes from another room."
"My boots are fine just as they are," Curly proclaimed. "They been through worse."
"As far as Harry's smarts," Doc said, "I must say I was surprised that he recognized me while I was disguised."
Harry scrambled to his feet, enthusiasm evident on his face. "I study your work all the time. You used that same get-up two years ago when you broke up that Nazi spy ring."
*
*An unrecorded adventure that remains classified and whose files are stored in a sub-basement vault at Doc Savage's skyscraper headquarters.
Doc raised an eyebrow and gave Harry a look of re-appraisal. The portly fellow's attention was then pulled to the wonders housed in the building they now occuppied. "Holy socks," he breathed.
The warehouse, owned by Doc, held any number of automobiles -- some quite experimental-looking -- as well as an anachronistic-looking autogyro, a dirigible and a submarine. Harry also spotted a workbench on which was arrayed the sections of something he thought looked similar to Buck Rogers' jet pack, just like in the funny papers.
Harry turned and the warehouse contents were forgotten. Instead, he was mesmerised by the bronze man's remarkable physique as Doc removed his soggy disguise and changed into dry clothes. Curly Wolfe also was struck speechless by the sight. Doc was a muscular marvel whose physical training had been ongoing since his youth, and his muscles rippled with corded sinew as he moved. He was a like a perfectly realized specimen that had just stepped from the pages of a physical culture magazine.
The other two men began changing into dry garb, and Curly was amazed at what Harry pulled from his pockets. The fat man had only just unbuttoned his jacket -- he had even swam in the river with it fastened -- and now Harry pulled out a sap of braided leather, a Case knife, two pairs of brass knuckles, a set of chamois-wrapped lock-picking tools, and three handguns, all of a small caliber. Curly shook his head -- where did Harry hide that stuff?
As the three finished up their change, Doc started toward an office in a corner of the warehouse. "I'll get shoes for Harry and me -- how about you?"
"Nope," Curly answered.
"I'm afraid I don't have a stand-in for that bush you're wearing."
Curly reached up to his nose and realized that the sopping and bedraggled shrub he called a mustache was dangling from one corner of his lip. He made a disgusted noise and pulled off the fake hair and dropped it to the floor.
Doc smiled and entered the office. He rummaged in a locker for shoes that looked to fit Harry, then went back out.
The two men -- wet clothes, fake mustache and all -- were gone. Only Harry's soaked and worn-at-the-heels shoes remained.
Doc checked outside. His car was gone as well.
If Doc Savage were a swearing man, he would have sworn now.
He had played a hunch, and it had flopped. He had been more loquacious than usual in explaining how he arrived at the warehouse with Harry and -- and he still didn't know Mr. Goggles' name! -- and the other character in the hope that they would share some useful information. But Doc still knew very little.
It was time to try something different.
Gravel Voice swung around in surprise as the apartment door slammed open. "Barlowe!" he cried.
Barlowe was a very big man. More than six feet tall and barrel-chested, and his profile pointed forward like a sharp knife. His long jaw jutted out in a way that showed he tolerated no foolishness and no defiance. Three more hard-looking men followed him into the room. He took in the scene as Black Cat Jackson joined them from an adjoining room.
"I was surprised to find you here," Barlowe stated.
Gravel Voice seemed delighted by the big man's arrival. "We had to leave the other place," he explained.
Barlowe cut him off. "Dimples told me at the door. Stupid Smalley."
A voice called from the other room, "Smalley's not stupid! Smalley --"
"Shut it!" Barlowe bellowed, and Smalley went silent.
The big man looked from Monk to Ham, still bound in their respective corners. He looked a question at Gravel Voice.
"Two of Doc Savage's crew," Gravel Voice said. "We're holding them here in case the car bomb didn't get him."
"That bomb didn't get him," Barlowe replied.
Monk and Ham exchanged guardedly celebratory looks.
"And he ain't in Norfolk no more," Barlowe continued. He didn't explain that this knowledge came only from an unknown person shouting Doc's name in a darkened warehouse. "But he ain't here no more, neither. We blew him up with the Hudson River place." He stared at Black Cat. "Didn't know about that location, did you?"
"Was I supposed to know about it?" Black Cat asked, a sarcastic smile appearing on her face. "The Blind Man is very fond of secrets. Or didn't you know that?"
Barlowe's jaw tightened, and a darkness spread from the bridge of his nose across his cheeks and up his forehead to his hairline. His fists trembled as he stared at the dark beauty standing before him, then he suddenly swung around to strike one of his three henchmen a tremendous haymaker. The other two thugs jumped back as the third smashed against the wall, then crumpled to the floor, out cold.
The big man had already turned back to Black Cat and faced her as though nothing so violent had just transpired. No one moved to help the downed man.
Barlowe jerked his head. "We don't need them anymore," he said, meaning Monk and Ham.
"You sure?" challenged Black Cat. Gravel Voice darted worried looks from the woman to Barlowe and made sure he wasn't standing within reach of the big man's fists.
Barlowe responded with a tone of finality: "Savage is dead. And from what I hear, you brought him into this thing by going to visit his office."
Black Cat rolled her eyes as though she were dealing with a simpleton. Gravel Voice could tell this reaction infuriated Barlowe. The dark-haired woman spoke as though she hadn't noticed.
"You know the Blind Man was very worried about Savage. So I went to his office to find out if he had already gotten involved. Apparently he hadn't, until this crew of morons showed up and made such a fuss that it raised a few antennas with Savage's crowd."
Gravel Voice sputtered. "I had Dimples follow you to -- well, I thought we'd learn how to meet the Blind Man. I didn't like being left out of things."
"Who cares about what you didn't like?" Barlowe roared. "You're not paid to like or not like!"
Gravel Voice frowned, then continued. "Dimples called and said she went into Savage's building. We thought she was turning snitch on us,so we raided the joint to get her out of there." He shook a finger at Black Cat. "And you tried to fight us off, too!"
"You're darn tootin' I smacked you boys around! I was mad! It was just another example of how your stupidity tangled up things -- I could have walked out with these two oafs no more wiser. But you brought in an entire army to stir up a hornets nest and Doc Savage's curiosity!" Black Cat shook a fist at Gravel Voice, who seemed to shrink a bit.
"That's enough," Barlowe ordered. He turned to Gravel Voice. "Get your crew together. We're leaving town."
"Why?"
"With the warehouse gone, our operations here are over. We're going back to Norfolk." He pointed at the two prisoners. "We don't need these chuckleheads. Get rid of 'em."
Men began carrying boxes out of the apartment to the cars the gang had parked nearby.
Barlowe made a gesture to someone in the other room, and Black Cat suddenly found her arms held by Smalley and another gang member. Someone dropped an empty cloth flour sack over the woman's head.
"We don't need this troublemaker any more, either, no matter what the Blind Man thinks. Take care of her, too!" Barlowe ordered.
Black Cat fought fiercely. She shook free briefly, and one of her fists popped Smalley on the jaw, while the nails of her other hand raked the face of her second captor. When she reached up to remove the bag, Barlowe stepped forward and landed an uppercut to the fiesty beauty's chin. Black Cat stretched out like a lodge pole, then dropped to the floor groaning.
Ham cringed at the way Barlowe's men handled the woman. But he saw red when the big man lashed out at her so savagely while she was unable to see. Monk, a sucker for any pretty woman, howled against his gag and raged against his bonds.
That's when a strange, gutteral gobbling sounded through the room. Monk and Ham stiffened against the tugging of the gang members who were working to get them on their feet. Barlowe whipped around, turning his head this way and that. "What was that?" he demanded. No one had an answer.
One of the gang manhandling Monk asked, "Won't a gun be kinda noisy for finishing off these birds?"
"Gun, hell!" Barlowe blustered. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a large knife that he quickly folded open. The blade looked sharp and fit for bear skinning. "We'll just use this."
As he stepped toward Black Cat Jackson and raised the knife to her throat, one of the crew who had been loading the cars ran back into the room. "Barlowe!" he yelled. "Something's wrong -- Twitch is out cold at his post!"
At that point, a voice outside the window yelled, "Now!" The cry was accompanied by the tinkle of breaking glass. In the act of turning toward the window, Barlowe spun on his heel and toppled to the floor like a felled tree. He was quickly joined by everyone else in the room -- except Monk and Ham.
Thirty seconds later, Doc Savage entered the room through the same window that he had tossed the small glass globes containing knockout gas that had stunned the gang of crooks. Doc had warned his two assistants of the gas by speaking in the ancient Mayan language, which had been the gobbling noises Barlowe had notice earlier.
During an earlier phase of his career the bronze man had regularly relied on a wide array of devices such as the glass knockout grenades, carrying them in the pockets of a specially tailored vest that he habitually wore. In recent years he rarely depended on these gadgets. But for this occasion, Doc had gathered a small supply of the tiny glass globes from a locker at the Hidalgo Trading Comapany warehouse.
Doc quickly freed Monk and Ham. The three were made safe from the effects of the gas simply by holding their breath until it dissipated, which usually occurred within sixty seconds.
The hairy chemist and the disheveled lawyer sat and massaged their limbs. Their ordeal as captives had taken its toll on their bodies.
"I knew you'd show up, Doc!" Monk crowed. "When these low-down gutter birds wake up, I'm gonna --"
"What have you learned?" Doc interrupted.
"Unfortunately, not a great deal," Ham answered. "This is a particularly bloodthirsty crowd. There seemed to be some conflicting levels of information-sharing going onwith this group."
"Stop that!" Doc interrupted.
His command was directed at Monk, who was preparing to give the unconscious Smalley a kick in the ribs. The chemist briefly scowled in frustration before assuming an expression of innocence. "I thought I saw a poisonous-looking spider crawling on him," he explained.
Ham scoffed. Then, before the lawyer could continue his report to Doc, a shout floated up from downstairs: "Fire! Fire!"
Sure enough, black smoke was rising in the alley outside the window, and smoke was starting to drift into the apartment from the hallway.
"Think this is a trick?" Monk asked.
"Perhaps," Doc agreed. "There are still gang members loose about the place. Still, we have to get these people to safety in case there actually is a fire. Can you two manage to carry this Jackson woman downstairs?"
"Sure!"
A brief argument ensued between the two aides on how best to carry the unconscious beauty until Doc cut it short. The trio went down the main staircase, the two aides going slowly in the thickening smoke.
Meanwhile, Doc located a water closet and, tearing a sleeve from his shirt, soaked the fabric in water from the sink faucet. He wrapped the sleeve around his head to cover his nose and mouth, providing some minimal relief from the rapidly thickening smoke.
Next, he lifted two of the unconscious gang members -- Barlowe and another, one upon each of his broad shoulders -- and stepped into the hallway. Barlowe was a solidly built fellow, Doc noted, and in a fair fight might physically be evenly matched with the bronze man.
The acrid smoke was quickly filling the building and obscuring the bronze man's vision. The back stairwell was closer to the apartment door, so he headed that way.
The big man of bronze was briskly descending the steps when he suddenly hurtled forward and slammed into a wall, tumbling to the nearest landing in a tangle with the limp forms of Barlowe and his lackey.
Doc had a vague sense of having stumbled over a tripwire strung across the stairs, when a swarm of men -- those members of Gravel Voice and Barlowe's gang who had escaped Doc's gas bomb by having been loading their vehicles -- attacked the dazed bronze man and relieved him of his two prisoners. Some of the group struck the downed bronze giant repeatedly with fists and heels while others of their number retrieved their unconscious comrades from the apartment. After a few minutes, the group had scurried away, leaving Doc to groggily and slowly crawl down the stairs.
Meanwhile, Monk and Ham had made it to the building lobby with Black Cat Jackson between them. The smoke was a roiling darkness that stung the eyes and nose. As Monk and Ham made their way to the door, which they could just discern as a slightly brighter spot within the smoke-filled room, three figures leapt out of the darkness upon the two. A blow to the skull put both assistants down, and the three ambushers relieved them of Black Cat Jackson's limp form.
At the rear of the building, Doc reached the alley at the bottom of the stairs. The gang had already vamoosed.
Leaning against a wall, he made his way to the front of the building in time to see four men -- one of whom he recognized, because of the clothing Doc had supplied and his battered cowboy hat, as pie-eating Harry Portman's erstwhile companion -- carrying Black Cat Jackson and loading her into a car that they swiftly drove away.
Doc entered the building lobby and pulled his two assistants into the fresh air. While inside, he had spotted several piles of oil-soaked rags, which -- when set fire -- had provided the choking pall that decoyed him and his friends into two separate ambushes.
The bronze man rubbed his aching head. He sat on the sidewalk between the prone forms of Monk and Ham, both of whom groaned.
"Brothers," Doc announced, "we've been stymied!"
Written By:
Duane Spurlock
based on notes by:
Kenneth Robeson
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