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Fate deals the cards

In blackness darker than the night that lay beyond these secret walls a single blue light arced into life, and below it moved a living shape of darkness -- The Shadow.

This was the nerve center of the Shadow's organization, where he, alone under a pale blue light, orchestrated his war on Crime. The Shadow took up his grim work in a room where it seemed it was always midnight, as he pondered what best he could do to counter the Evils that plagued ordinary society. Before him on a shiny polished table lay an envelope, within which was a sheath of papers. Most of the papers within the envelope were mere clippings from the newspapers, but on a few sheets were listed names and information about those names, secreted to this hidden sanctum by his agents from across the City and beyond.

The Shadow's Agents were in every walk of life High and Low, from Wall Street financier to those who walked the unforgiving back streets and alleys that were home and caldron birthplace to many of Gangdom's soldiers. Each agent was contacted in his turn to fill parts in a grande scheme that often only the Shadow himself wove and could see. They acted out parts that could lead to danger, violence and possibly death. But each agent had his own story and reason to be true to the Shadow's cause.

As the shadow surveyed the reports and made his decisions on his next moves against the Underworld, on the third finger of his left
hand sparkled a gleaming gem, the Shadow's Girasol ring. That gleam, flickered from deep purple to blood crimson under the pale blue light, and was reflected in the intense eyes of The Shadow as he weighed the vulnerabilities of the Foemen against the strengths and habits of his agents. Some were best suited for mere collation of information but others were his other hands in the battle with Crime.

The Shadow drew a line through one name that was repeated in several of the reports, a dark luminary in the constellation of
Gangdom, Frank Earl, the one time top enforcer of the late Gang boss Rico Contini. Earl was one foe of Law that the Shadow had reason to believe would meet his end this night. The police had laid a trap and only death would be Earl's escape. The small chances that he might escape were outweighed by the venal character of this criminal, he'd fight to the death rather than be taken and never slink away like a whipped dog. The Shadow would have liked to insure this trap's success personally but had decided to trust to the abilities of those others on the side of Law.

The Shadow's brow furrowed as he looked again at the name he'd just crossed out. Frank Earl, Frank "the Snake", called such for his strange coilings, the bloody betrayals of his cronies and the many times he'd wriggled free of other traps set by the law. In the deck of cards Gangland used against ordinary society there was no doubt Frank Earl was a wild card. The Shadow had stepped back from his own plans when he'd learned of this police trap and instead of intervening did his best behind the scenes to insure Earl did not get wise. The success of the trap was a certainty. But can anything be a complete certainty? Especially when dealing with this "snake"?

He studied the letters of another name, as if the letters themselves could help him answer this puzzle. The second name was of a Chief of police in Upstate New Jersey, not really all that far from The Shadow's usual haunts in the City. Chief of Police Paul Campbell of Brunswick New Jersey was about as honest and effective a Local Chief as you could ask for. He was both Intelligent and aggressive. One would think, if need be, he might even be a good choice for inclusion among the Shadow's own agents, but that would be an exception to The Shadow's own rules. No Policeman in the City had crossed that line, no matter how well respected by the Shadow. Such a rule seemed a waste, an able man such as Chief Campbell would be an asset, bettering the Shadow's grip on the state that lay just beyond the Hudson.

In other hands this trap would be like paper to Frank Earl, easily torn aside, but Chief Campbell would see that the trap had teeth of steel.

The Shadow decided to await the next turn of fate's cards in the case of Frank Earl and instead looked down the list of the other names.

His eyes narrowed as he underlined one name Mavis Martin.

---

Chief Campbell was suddenly nervous when he saw the Duesenberg pull up to the old foundry. Finally, Frank Earl, had arrived. Chief Campbell watched as Earl alighted, doffed his hat and mopped sweat from his bald head with a silk handkerchief. Earl's bald pate and mustache made for easy identification. Earl was dressed well for what to honest men was still a work night. He wore a fine tan overcoat and white hat. He was squiring this evening a brassy blonde girl who wore an expensive fox-trimmed coat. Frank coyly fended off the girl's affections, begging off to attend to business within the dark foundry after hours. He brought to the foundry door a long box tied with a bright red silk ribbon and chuckled and waved back to the girl as he entered. The girl, frustrated, broke out a hip flask and muttered at the cold night air.

Something in Chief Campbell's Cop's instincts went off like an alarm, but Paul Campbell was still young for a man in his position and he chose to ignore it.

Campbell signaled to the left and right flank and his men converged on the Entrance. The girl in the car was stunned to be surrounded suddenly by blue police uniforms, big men carrying shotguns and revolvers. She was grabbed and muffled before she could yell to warn Earl.

Inside, in the entryway and offices of the foundry, it was dark and quiet as Frank "the Snake" entered, but walking up beyond the
first hallway out to where the foundry did its work, there was a bright pool of work lights. He walked up to the lights and called out
to the men working there. The men were working over crates containing bottles of illegal liquor.

Frank was in high spirits but the men wore dour faces and remained silent. "Hey, Boys!" Frank laughed "How's it goin'? We ready
for the meeting with the Dutchman's boys? I don't want us to be late."

The grim faces didn't lift, they barely acknowledged being talked to.

"Hey, what gives? Why so glum?" he asked "I'm in no mood for problems." he warned putting down the gift box on the edge of a nearby workbench. "I'm liquored up, dressed up. I even got here a birthday present!" he said pointing at the box "Hey, didn't I tell you it was my birthday? No?" he looked at their dark faces and his mood suddenly broke into anger "What's going on here? I didn't come out here for games. We have a stock transfer of 200 gallons in a half hour ... if you've messed that up I'll ..."

A voice from the darkened hallway behind Earl broke in, "You're late Frank." Frank Earl spun around like he'd been slapped. A half dozen police came in to the work floor, in the lead was a young fair-haired man in a plain, grey overcoat. "We sprang this trap nearly twenty minutes ago. But without you it just didn't seem right." he said with sarcasm. "It's been hard convincing your men to stay and keep quiet."

Frank backed up like a cornered animal only to see another half dozen police coming out of the darkness beyond the work lights, all holding rifles and shotguns. The work lights now glinted off shiny police buttons and badges.

"But then ..." the man in the grey overcoat, chief Campbel, indicated a work bench with a gesture,"once the hard cases were cooled the others became more cooperative."

Frank now looked behind the workbench where he'd put down his box. Two pairs of legs stuck out. These were his lieutenants Russo and Lake. The smell of blood hit him and his face turned red with suppressed rage.

"Keep a grip, Frank" counseled Chief Campbell, lifting into view his service revolver. "You're a man of influence after all" he pointed out with only a little less sarcasm "I'm sure if you behave and come with us quietly, you'll get three shyster lawyers to come running to the jail by daybreak. And if you get the right judge, you may walk out by breakfast time."

Ordinarily what Chief Campbell said would've made sense to Frank but trapped like this, his senses at their peak, he could almost smell the lie. There must be a judge back at the courthouse just waiting for him, he wouldn't walk as usual this time.

Something must have flickered in Frank Earl's eyes as he seemed to shrink back in fear to the workbench, this time Chief Campbell listened to his warning instincts. "Don't do it Frank," he warned cocking his revolver. "If you touch that box, you're a dead man"

The revolver was aimed at Frank Earl's head, at this distance Chief Campbell couldn't miss, if Frank "the Snake" so much as twitched he'd be dead.

They say no one can dodge a speeding bullet but human reflexes being what they are a surprise move can at least change the odds from certainty to slim chance, which was enough for a brute like Earl, lying in a trap like an animal. He smiled in grim determination.

"Oh, Cripes!" Chief Campbell muttered as his instincts screamed danger. He started shooting just as Earl moved. It was a simple move, Earl dropped his hand straight down, it hit the edge of the box on the workbench and the box pivoted up. It looked awkward and pointless at first as the force of the downward strike made the box stand up from the bench and hit Earl in the face. But the blocking box was enough to deflect the chief's first shot and the ribbon was the sort that was glued on and the box cracked open as it struck.

It seemed like a magic trick to the gaping policemen. One moment there was Frank Earl at bay, weaponless, and then suddenly from a flying box "the Snake" gripped onto a Thompson sub machine gun. The Chief was still firing and Frank took two bullets in his shoulder and side but to no effect. Earl now held the machine gun out and flame erupted from its muzzle.

Earl's men scrambled, some reached for weapons but most just jumped for cover. The police should have focused on taking Earl down while they had the chance but in that sudden moment there were just too many targets before them and chaos and confusion reigned.

Frank Earl swung the erupting Thompson around the room like a fire hose. Bullets from the police and his own, ricocheting off the
foundry steel, whizzed past him. He was hit again by a bullet and shuddered and his knees went weak. He dropped to his knees still
firing the Thompson. But suddenly even that ceased erupting flame.

Silence fell on the scene. It was like after banging metal on metal, the air still seemed to hum even in the silence.

The air under the work lights was grey from the gun smoke. Groans of wounded and dying men rose from all directions, from all the dark corners of the workshop. Earl staggered to his feet bleeding from four wounds, there was blood in his eyes from a bullet that had creased his bald head.

But Earl's savage ferocity focused into a blue hot precision, Frank reached into the box where the gun had been secreted and pulled out a second magazine. He wobbled on unsure legs for a moment but managed to replace the machine gun's magazine with fresh ammunition and surveyed the carnage around him. He'd killed a dozen police outright and the rest lay wounded about the work floor, struggling to escape. With no compunction, he executed them one by one as they crawled and struggled, not one was able to defend themselves or was shown any mercy.

Chief Campbell had been the first to fall and he lay staring blankly up at the foundry's ceiling.

Shaken, disbelieving what they'd seen, what was left of Frank's men rose from their cover and hiding places. Frank turned his
attention to them with his eyes wide and blazing. They cringed back in terror at his growing wildness. They knew only too well his rages, nothing but more death would appease him.

One tough guy called out pleading "Frank! They had us cold! We couldn't do nothing!"

Frank's animal ferocity burst out in a hail of curses. "You couldn't do nothing?!" he screamed. "You could've DIED! But no!
Instead you stayed here like cheese in a trap! You betrayed me!"

One of the toughs broke down and cried like a baby "No, Please, Frank, I've got a wife and kids!"

A burst of fire came from the Tommy gun and the hoodlum fell over in a heap like so much blood soaked laundry.

One hoodlum in self defense fired back on Frank but he was too slow for self preservation, the bullets never hit frank and frank took this as his cue to open up full blast.

Frank finished his bloody nights' work by cutting down all of his own men, still cursing "You should've DIED!"

Thus it was that Fate had turned the next card and revealed again the wild card of Frank "the Snake" Earl. The Shadow had had a
premonition that this would be the case but had stood back and let those who rightfully should have prevailed fall. The Shadow would long regret not taking a hand in this night, but he would not let that regret deter him from righting the balance. Paramount now would be finishing "the snake" once and for all.

 

---

Lamont Cranston sat in the morning light enjoying the dappled shade of a maple tree which sighed in the soft breeze coming off the
long island sound. He sat in a lawn chair beside the tennis courts of the Long Island Racquet Club, an exclusive playground of the well to do. He spoke leisurely with a friend and associate who he wanted to introduce to young Morgan Willis. While he pretended to talk
carelessly, he studied the morning newspapers.

No one here, or any where else for that matter, realized this was not in fact Lamont Cranston, so complete and natural was the Shadow's assumption of Cranston's identity. An identity that had served the Shadow well and which the real Cranston, for his own desires of freedom from his old life, had granted him willingly. The real Cranston traveled the world while the Shadow in his guise could appear unnoticed, unsuspected, going wherever he willed in his war on crime.

The headlines in the morning edition were calling last nights carnage the "Milltown Massacre". The newspapers mistakenly assumed it had been a big shoot out and both sides had killed each other off. They did note that one big fish, Frank Earl had escaped but aside from that the Shadow already knew the story was inaccurate. The Shadow's agents through sources in the police department had alerted him to the catastrophe and he'd gone without sleep to go and survey the scene personally. The layout and pattern of the crime scene told a grimmer story, that one man had gone on an infernal rampage.

"Why, we meet again, Mr. Cranston." came a soft and lilting voice breaking in on the shadow's thoughts. He looked up to see a strikingly pretty smile from a face he well knew. It was Margot Lane.

Putting the newspaper under his arm he rose to meet her and they shook hands cordially. "Good Morning to you Miss Lane."

She was dressed dazzlingly in a white tennis outfit that flattered her young figure. She leaned in and spoke confidentially,
"And how goes things with you today, Mr. Cranston? I see you're reading the newspapers very intently."

He put down the newspaper "er ... that is another matter. But I am truly glad to see you this morning." he said with emphasis.

She looked at him quizzically,"Really? Sometimes in the past I doubted that, but you seem to be quite sincere, now. I'm flattered.
But it makes me wonder why." she smiled

"I need your help."

She smiled. "That would be an admission I like hearing," she said quietly "but it's not an explanation."

He smiled back. She had been a surprise in their first encounters, having met the real Cranston on his travels she had moved
to continue a friendship that the Shadow hadn't been aware of. But that was in the past, now she was an agent of the Shadow and an able one at that, if occasionally a trifle reckless. "With you here our meeting with Morgan Willis will look more casual ... if he is being
watched."

She gasped."Morgan? We're old friends, we went to college together. A nice boy but why would anyone be watching him?" she added in a lowered tone. "Something's up, isn't it. Are you acting under instructions from ... ?"

Lamont headed her off "I can't talk about that now. Let's keep this conversation short and light ... but I promise you'll get a full
explanation, in detail, later."

"I'd better." Margot smiled coyly then nodded firmly "I'll do my part."

"Oh, but I'm being rude" Lamont said in a louder tone "I'm hogging your attentions to myself." he moved to indicate another man
who sat not far off in the morning air under the shade tree. "Miss Lane, I'd like to introduce you to my friend and associate, Mr.
Maxwell."

A small man with greying hair, glasses and a goatee stood formally and took Miss Lane's hand. "I'm charmed, I'm sure."

The little man was almost inconsequential looking but the voice had the air of command, it was a trained voice and it set off a bell
of familiarity with Margot. "A pleasure to meet you Mr. Maxwell" she began then stopped "but ... well, have we met before? There's
something familiar about you."

Lamont and Maxwell looked at each other nervously and significantly. Maxwell smiled "A clever girl"

"Always" admitted Lamont. "But we can't let worries stop us now. I think that's Morgan at the Club door coming this way."

Lamont addressed Margot. "All we need is to get Morgan to invite Mr. Maxwell to a party he's having tonight."

Margot's brow furrowed "A party? That I haven't heard about?"

"It's ... er ... a trifle different, you wouldn't likely be invited but Mr. Maxwell must be. In fact, if Morgan does invite you decline. If you like you can say you have a previous engagement with me"

Margot held her tongue, a great effort on her part. Margot was frustrated at not having a complete explanation immediately but you
wouldn't have known it from the quiet warmth she showed when she turned to the direction Morgan Willis was approaching. "Hi, Morgan" she said casually.

Up till that moment Morgan Willis had been walking almost in a daze, oblivious to his surroundings with something dark troubling his thoughts, but when he saw Margot his spirits lightened and he turned to greet her. They shook hands and smiled and mouthed a few pleasantries. Margot introduced Morgan to Lamont and Morgan's eyes appraised Margot and Lamont together. In Morgan's eyes Lamont could see an unspoken assumption about him and Margot that he didn't trouble himself to refute. Cranston in turn introduced Morgan to Mr. Maxwell, who Morgan barely registered greeting and returned to face Lamont.

"Mr. Cranston," Morgan began. "We haven't met before but I wish to thank you. I believe you were one of my late father's friends, he needed more friends like you near the end."

Lamont nodded. "I was sorry to hear of his passing."

"Don't be" said Morgan shaking his head "He was ill for such a long time ... he's beyond that now."

"I wasn't able to see him as much as I would've liked near the end but I did what I could, he and I were fellow collectors and
respected each other ... "

Morgan interrupted "Near the end he was not a happy man, especially after he fell under the influence of my Aunt Matty. Her and
that ... that ... Spiritualist!" he grumbled.

Mr. Maxwell looked intently at Morgan and stroked his goatee. "Spiritualist, you say?" he asked his voice cutting through and
getting Morgan to notice him again "Tell me more."

Morgan and Maxwell then began to converse, Maxwell was an able man, famous for his charm, clever Margot had sensed that immediately. Maxwell was able to coax Morgan to open up. Lamont smiled that this problem was now in Maxwell's talented hands. And so it was the Shadow's thoughts went back to his other problem, Frank Earl. Earl was certainly hurt badly and now probably friendless. He'd gone to ground somewhere and somehow the Shadow had to find him. He had to find a way to pick up this wounded beast's trail again. But how?

While Lamont's attention wandered and he puzzled this out, Margot in turn watched Lamont and again tried to puzzle him out.

Lamont caught Margot watching him and smiled. Fate had favored him with a new card. He'd started the day with two fronts open in his war on crime, Frank "the snake" Earl and Morgan Willis' nemesis, the cheating spiritualist Mavis Martin. But as he turned back to Earl with Mr. Maxwell helping Willis, he now saw he held another card in reserve, the queen of the deck, Margot Lane.

---

To be continued...
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This Story Copyright 2001 Joe Nemec
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