The Crime Crusaders Club

Case 15: "Trouble with a Capital T"

By Mikel Midnight

The man remembers seeing a flash of gold, and then nothing but darkness. He awakes to see, seated before him, a blonde woman wearing a golden minidress and golden slippers, and wearing a utility belt.

She smiles engagingly. "The Gay Troubadour," she says as she sips a hot drink from a glittering cup. "Finally awake. Mabuse's gas combined with my own must have hit you hard. I do apologise. Tea?"

The man snarls, "Golden Glider." He tugs at his bonds, spying his mandolin hanging out of reach from a nearby wall. "What do you want with me?"

The woman sips her tea again. "I thought we should have a little chat." Her eyes glitter like gold.

He narrows his eyes. "A chat ... very well." Let her rattle on and expose her plan, he thinks to himself. They always do. Sooner or later she'll make a mistake and I'll escape, and I'll be in all the better position to foil her.

She looks thoughtful for a moment, as if reminiscing. "I never expected to run into you on the museum caper, though it was fortuitous. Funny, both of us coming all the way from Keystone City. It was even more fortuitious that the Gambler and Mabuse disrupted the party, because it meant I was able to make use of my plan to abscond with you."

He blinks. "Your plan? You're intending to ... what, ransom me to the Crime Crusaders Club? Use me as a ploy to ambush the Flash?"

She appears amused at his evident confusion. "No ... no ... nothing like that at all." She walks over to him, and strokes his cheek. "I want you to join me."

His mouth falls open. "Join you? In what?"

"In a life of crime, of course," she adds simply. "You skills paired with mine ... we could easily take down the Flash, and run Keystone on our own!"

"You're crazy," he says, wondering in what sort of insane cliched scenario he'd found himself.

Elsewhere ...

On the grounds surrounding a large New York house, skulks a figure cloaked in red, clutching a torch in his withered left hand. Its light casts a ghoulish glare on the chalky plate of a face wrapped in the cowl of the dark figure's darker cloak. He jerks suddenly as he finds the darkness in which he hides illuminated by a flashlight.

He turns to face a lady in evening clothes, one of her hands holding a flashlight, the other resting on an oddly-designed rifle which she has slung by a strap around her right shoulder. "Please, Mister Seagel," her voice is soft. "I know you feel Wesley Dodds has wronged you, but there are other ways to gain recompense than violence. You haven't broken any laws yet. Come with me, we can maybe find a solution to your problems."

The figure hisses, "Nnnnever! My revenge will not be foiled by you, stupid girl!" He runs at her, and she fires her rifle. Greenish gas, smelling slightly of violets, fills the air. The figure falls to the ground, coughing. The woman walks towards him, her pace interrupted by the sound of applause from behind her.

She whirls around to see a masked and caped man. "What is this, a joke?" she demands. She aims her rifle at him, only to have it disintegrated out of her hands by a ray beam from a mechanism in the cloaked figure's hand.

"I don't know who you are," he says, "But you have the thanks of the Scarlet Ghost ... though his genius would certainly have overcome this pathetic figure soon enough." He walks to the hooded figure, and aims the device which causes the fallen ghoul to vanish.

The woman cries out, and lunges at the Scarlet Ghost, who backhands her easily. "It's only because you've done me a service I don't kill you where you stand," he snarls. "Consider us even." He turns his back to her and stalks off into the shadows.

Golden Glider pouts, "You're one to talk about crazy ... Tubby Tunney."

The Gay Troubadour groans at the use of a long outgrown childhood nickname. "I see you've done your research."

"Oh, I know all about you," she agrees. "Your musical career which fizzled out, so you turned to the sciences and commenced a research program at Midwestern University on the the precise mathematical characteristics of complex vibrations ... and how much you missed being the center of attention on stage, so began a career as an adventurer. You even saved the Flash's life once ... or was that the other way around?"

"We're in the same line of work, lady, we don't keep track." "Oh, I think you do," she says. "I think you keep track of everything, just like I do. We're a lot alike, you see." He shakes his head, "We're nothing alike, lady!" Her hands reach up to the base of her skull, and she removes her mask and wig, unpinning her hair which falls to her shoulders. Her graceful neck, attractive chin and full lips seem momentarily incongruous with what is revealed to be a sharply pointed nose, deep-set eyes and mousy brown hair. "I was never the center of attention when I was younger, because nobody notices a woman with my looks ... with a mask and a wig I could don a whole new personality." She ruffles his blond hair, "You're one of the most handsome men I've ever seen, but you grew up a fat kid and never found your way as an adult. We both found what we needed behind new identities and a life of adventure."

"You found your 'way' ... if that's what you call it ... in a life of crime. I found mine fighting for justice."

"Oh please ... let's talk about 'justice.' I know how you used your academic position to get a lectureship for Princess Hellene from Crete, knowing full well she was also the criminal Black Widow ... and how you did nothing to stop her crimes in advance, preferring instead to grandstand and help the Flash stop her."

He gapes at her, "How ... how did you ... "

She grins, "The Flash's Rogues' Gallery is a very tight-knit group. We all share our dirty little secrets. You might say we're like family."

"I admit, I ... "

"Think nothing of it. And as for 'justice' ... I only steal from people who have more money than they deserve. And I've never hurt anyone, ever, in any of my crimes. I'm in it for the thrills and attention, just like you. The Golden Glider is ..." She slips the mask and gold wig back on, transforming her face, and running her hands up and down her golden minidress, "a fantasy figure to half the men in Keystone, a femme fatale, nothing I could ever be on my own."

"There's still a difference, curse you! When someone does good they do so for its own sake ... when someone does evil they do so for personal gain."

"I've followed your career for some time. The Flash can rescue a kitten from a tree and make front page news on Keystone papers. You brought in the Black Hat, the Snapper, the Wooden Man ... all buried on page five. You, who went into this to be in the spotlight, don't tell me that doesn't grate on you?"

He grinds his teeth. "Yes ... it does."

She leans down to kiss him. Her lips are tender, her breath sweet, the gold on her dress sparkles in his eyes. "We'll make the front page headlines, you and I .. .and the Flash won't know what hit him."

"I ... I ... " he looks into her gold-flecked eyes. "I'll try it."

Elsewhere ...

The bunch of outlaw fliers, wearing orange flying costumes with skulls on their chests, crashes into the city streets. A rain of bullets follow them. They shatter windows in the commercial district, sending glass and metal flying. Automobiles and pedestrians desperately flee the chaos.

An airplane, on which is painted the insignia of a vulture, followed by a pair of men who soar independently like great birds, leave the scene across the Gotham skies. From out of the chaos flies a colorful figure, carrying a sword. In the air he hurls himself into the causes of the destruction, perching on the hood of the airplane. "Forsooth," says the Gay Ghost, "I welcome thy help against my old foes The Vultures, but thy tactics have caused much loss below."

Any further words of his are silenced as the two other men loop around, grabbing him by the cape and pulling him into the air. "We didn't do this for you, fool," says one of the pair. "Last time it took the All-Star Squadron to take me down, and I'm not going to tolerate your interference, especially not with the new technology supplied by my allies." The man's partner remains silent regarding his own humiliating defeat by Doll Man.

The Gay Ghost focuses on becoming intangible to free himself from his attackers, but before he has the opportunity he is struck from behind by a volley of bullets from the airplane. He falls to the ground as his antagonists head off to the horizon. Barely do they have time to enjoy their victory when they look up to see the skies darken. Another group flies above them, dressed in giant vulture flying suits.

"Gott in Himmel," curses the man in the airplane, "We won ... I will not be felled by these ... cultists ... "

"It is too late," says a voice from above, which then barks an order, "electronomize them."

A machine is activated, and the trio's eyes glaze over. "Hail the Vulture King," they chant in unison with the other men in the flying suits, as cackling laughter pervades the air.

"You look good in red," the Golden Glider says.

Garrison Tunney grins at her. "Thank you. I decided a new career deserved a new look. And those sonic gimmicks are old hat ... I decided I'd be better off beating the Flash at his own game." He shows her the helmet he was working on. "This will set up a vibrational ripple which allows me to run and fly at super speed ... so far I've tested it at 150 mph but the upper limit is way beyond that."

Eyeing his new uniform, with its red shirt, red tights, and red boots, she notes, "You don't look like a troubadour in that, though."

He shakes his head, "No, I don't. I'm going to be making a lot of trouble for the Flash, we both will be ... so from now on call me Gary Trouble! Trouble with a capital T!"

THE END