NOTE: There's nothing wrong with your High Definition Rear Projection 72" screen. Nor is anything askew with your 40" PlasmaVision Flatscreen Monitor. This episode was filmed entirely in black and white.

Fandom: Invisible Man (2000)

Rating: PG-13. Some adult situations. Some language.

Status: Complete

Author: Betsy Manning (aka AnitaLife, because honest to god, I really need a life!)

E-me:  betsybird27@hotmail.com 

Feedback: Sure.

Disclaimers:  This is just some wandering musings. I mean no harm. To paraphrase another fic writer: These aren’t my characters. I just take ‘em off the shelf and play with them once in awhile. The Invisible Man is the property of Stu Segall Productions and USA Cable Entertainment. Original characters, situations and wise ass remarks Copyright 2003 Betsy Manning. Legal rep: Dewey, Cheatum & Howe, Esq.

Archive: Sure; just let me know so I can give you the latest version.

Spoilers: None that I'm aware of.

Music: Gershwin and Porter. "Love Me or Leave Me", "Body and Soul", "Old Black Magic", "Bewitched"

Synopsis:  Hobbes as the hardboiled gum shoe of old. Borden runs the "big" Agency. Chrysalis is The Syndicate. Stark's the don. Vivian is the femme fatale. Monroe's the wise cracking girl reporter who moonlights for The Agency. Claire is the beautiful Doctor and part time chanteuse. Fawkes is still the Invisible Man and the incredibly lovable dope with the over-developed Peter Pan complex.

Hobbes Noir
The Invisible Man at the Wax Museum

I was burning the midnight oil, pouring over the files and evidence from the Smithfield case. My no good bum partner was nowheres to be seen, but then again, that was his specialty.

 

I was in our humble office on the 5th floor in a place I call a “walk-up” at what I call the “Tire Iron Building”. I called it that ‘cause of all the rusty wrought iron railing that was everywhere inside. It had an elevator but it was always broke, like us. So technically our office was a “walk up”. It was the cheapest front we could score but it was all ours and that’s what really counted.

 

I kept lighting my Lucky’s but lettin’ ‘em burn out. The office got smokier than the pool room down at Joe’s on a hot Saturday night. You coulda cut it with a switchblade.

 

The case we was working was a real sticker and I was just about to shelve it for the night, grab a bottle of Jack and head for home.

 

I heard a delicate but urgent rap on the frosted glass of the door.

 

I saw her silhouette, and gave a quiet whistle. Oh, mama! Must’ve fallen asleep and had a dream about an angel. You coulda held a Roller Derby on that hat brim of hers. It dipped at just the right angle, the way dames arrange it so they can flirt.

 

I got up to answer. I’d installed the 4 locks myself. It annoyed the kid, but he used to pick ‘em, and I don’t mind making him practice his old ways once in awhile when he goes all stupid on me and loses his keys. It’s worth a laugh.

 

“Come in.” I said as I slid back the last lock and pulled the door open.

 

And there she was, waltzing back into my life, as if nothing had ever gone down between us! I started to get a little sore, but then I saw those big browns and I forgot all about whatever it was that made me sore. Her eyes just dripped like those antelope I seen at the Bronx Zoo when I was a kid in Brooklyn. Her suit was neat as a streamline train. It had those big shoulder pads that they’re all wearing right now. I coulda got my hands around her slender waist, and how I coulda done that.

 

I remember how those black seams up the back of her stockings used to get me hot. Dame had some kinda shapely legs; long and wouldn’t quit. I couldn’t help but think about the heaven at the end of that slit in her tight skirt.

 

“Hello, Bobby.” she said, and nailed me in one. I always loved that sexy voice. But, I also knew she wouldn’t’ve looked me up unless somethin’ was wrong.

 

“Vivian. It’s good to see you, babe. Been awhile. What brings you to the dark side of town to see your bum Ex?”

 

“I need your help, Bobby. I’m a girl in trouble.”

 

“Are you, uh…?” I asked, thinking she meant she was knocked up and needed some pesos.

 

“No Bobby. Not that kinda trouble.” she slowly blinked her lovely lashes pointing to the slatted wooden floor for a split moment. Then she looked into eyes. “This is much worse!”

 

Even though I only had that one bare light bulb, hanging on a frayed wire over my desk, I could see the bruising under her makeup. Her gorgeous eyes told me she’d been crying something fierce.

 

“Viv! What louse gave you that shiner?” I asked. “I’ll kill him with my bare hands!”

 

“Oh Bobby. I don’t have anyone else I can turn to.” She said, as I saw the waterworks start to go to the “on” position. I hate it when dames bawl!

 

“It was Sammy.”

 

“That no good fighter you been shacked up with? Sammy ‘The Slammer’ Sullivan?”

 

“We were so happy! I don’t know what happened. He got all mixed up in something and then he disappeared. When he came back he was…” she sobbed “he was different! The man I loved turned into a raging bull over night!”

 

I didn’t like to hear that ‘man I loved’ comment, but what was the best dick in San Diego gonna do when the ‘woman he loves’ comes into his office at midnight and pleads for help? I pulled out my handkerchief and tried to help her sop up the waterfalls that reminded me of our Niagara honeymoon. I was standing real close to her, and could feel her red-hot soft hair brush my cheek. She started to pull herself together which was good for me.

 

“Oh Bobby!” she coo cooed in that crazy way of hers, her mood shifting. “What ever happened to us?”

 

I know when I’m being a sap. Her lips met mine. I was putty but I didn’t mind. Putty was fine by me. If I was a fish, she’d be one hell of a fisherman. Hook line and sinker. Over board I went, my head spinning with her scent.

 

Now I’m still a good dick. No matter how much I’m being distracted, and believe you me, I was being distracted. I still know what’s going on around me, no matter how much I try to ignore it. and believe you me, I was trying to ignore it ‘cause I knew what ‘it’ was.

 

First I got that the worn wooden floor was creaking like my grandma’s knees. Second, I could smell Sen-Sens he’d been eatin’ for dinner and damn if that’s not Old Spice he bathes in! He was breathing all heavy; either something was bugging him big time or else he was just an invisible Peeping Tom!

 

I could hear the faint chinkle of his Quicksilver falling off. Sure enough it was that over grown jack rabbit partner of mine.

 

Damn his timing and spying on me to boot! I’m gonna kick his ass up and down those rickety stairs one of these days! All five floors! Just watch me!

 

“Oh” she peeped, startled by his sudden appearance. She got all kind of demure, or whatever it’s called. Like all shy that he “walked in” on that lou-lou of a lip lock. We was doing somethin’ private like, and now here’s his big ugly kisser in our faces. Sheesh.

 

“Viv, this is my partner, Darien Fawkes. Sorry! He’s light on his feet and in his head. His specialty is not bein’ seen.”

 

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” he said, tipping his Fedora and turning on that goofy charm that makes the dames melt. I’m gonna smack him six ways to Sunday.

 

“So, Fawkesy, why don’t you make like the wind and disappear!”

 

“Not a chance, Hobbes. Fat Man was on the horn. He wants us downtown! Something big’s going on.”

 

“Uh Uh. No way! I’m finished wit da Fat Man. I don’t work for The Agency no more. I work for our Agency, got that? We’s got this set up here and that’s the way I like it.”

 

“Fat Man says ‘no way”. You and me, we’s his. That’s what he says!”

 

I didn’t like the sound of that one bit, but I knew what he was telling me. He needs his fix, courtesy of The Agency. They made him an addict and keep him on a short leash like he was a schnauzer.

 

The kid’s in trouble more than outta trouble. And it’s always Bobby Hobbes that gets stuck wiping his runny nose and pulling his skinny lily-white ass outta the frying pan. I don’t mind so much any more, but sometimes he’s a real pain where the sun don’t shine! And right now was one of those times.

 

“Hobbes, he needs you”, he pleaded with me. “I need you.”

 

“At this hour? Must be big if he wants me on the case.”

 

“The biggest! Syndicate trouble.”

 

Dammit! If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Now I got a dame and the chowderhead in my office, begging me to help them!

 

Ah, I guess he can’t help it. It’s not his fault.

 

Ya see, before partnering up with me, the kid was a two bit penny ante operator, which amounts to all of twenty-six cents. Con Man, Petty Larcenist, Thief, Second-Story Man, who shoulda got off on the first floor. Pulled some cute baby sized heists and got his self framed on a trumped up charge. Life without parole! For what? It was the Baumes rush and a raw deal, the old razzle dazzle. Personally, I think it was all fubar from the giddy-up. Yeah, it was a set up from the get go. But, I’m like that Cassandra dame, and no one ever listens to me!

 

Fawkes’ whole problem was this: A bunch of Einsteins got together and done this to him, made it so he could turn into The Invisible Man. Yeah, you heard right! Invisible Man. The Agency finished the job on him and kept it up just to keep him and his special talents under the Fat Man’s oversized thumb. The kid’s still beholden to The Agency, ‘cause they was in cahoots with those damn college boys. Now he can’t seem to get away.

 

Here’s the real rub: His brother was one of the mad scientist bums what made him like he is. How do you like that? This guy does this to own baby brother!

 

I thought prison experiments went out with burning dames at the stake ‘cause they kept a black cat for a pet, but no dice. Those eggheads got together and decided to do some fancy surgery on Fawkes’ poor excuse for a brain. They sprung him outta The Slammer like they promised. But then they did some midnight operation on him, all shady and secret. Ever since then, he ain’t been the same.

 

And ever since I got that job at the Fat Man’s Agency, I ain’t never been the same. The Agency seems to have that effect on people.

 

I really hate that The Agency can still blackmail the kid with that stuff they got him hopped up on. Then he turns around and blackmails me; if I don’t help him, I gotta look at his mug looking like a lost puppy stuck outside in the rain on Christmas Eve. Can’t stand him looking at me like that. 

 

And here’s the pesto resisto on the blackmail: I know I am the only one he can turn to and I really care about him despite both him and me.

 

“I’m busy, kid.” I told him, but I knew I was being a sap again; I hadda at least pretend to fight it.

 

“You’re about to get busier.”

 

“That’s ‘more busier’” I corrected. Kid’s got lousy grammar.

 

“It can wait until morning.” I stated, like that was gonna work.

 

“Hobbes, Fat Man said I hadda get you downtown tonight or else…” He left that off, since Viv was there. Then he did that lost doggie look and I felt like a Granny Smith in a cider press. Ah crap! I hadda tell Viv.

 

“Baby doll, ya gotta know, I’ll get you outta this fix, or my name’s not Bobby Hobbes. But right now, kitten, I gotta go. Fat Man can’t get by without me. You got a place to go where you’ll be safe?”

 

She told me she could go to her mother’s place on the West side, so I told her I’d call as soon as I could.

 

So there I was. Instead of “helping” Vivian, I was off downtown to visit that bloated bag of… Ah! Nuts!

 

I’d been working for a bunch of Agencies. Been around town. Got my undeserved rep as a hot head. I was just too much for those pansies to handle. Jealousy was what it was. I don’t need no lousy head shrinker like they’d all been saying. That’s just nuts.

 

The Agency

 

Fat Man’s Agency was done up in style: Big office building in a good part of town. 17th Floor. Nice Views. Curtains on the windows. Elevator that works. More than one light bulb. Got a sweet little secretary at the front (when it’s not 1:30 AM) and big vases full of flowers, made fresh every day.

 

Fawkes and me was ushered in as soon as we got to the lobby by Eberts who’s the Fat Man’s shadow and “Yes” Man. Eberts looked like someday he was gonna grow up to be The Official. His suit was too big, and even his skin seemed to sag off of him, like he was expecting that someday it would fit.

 

Fat Man was sitting behind his desk like the Royal Pain that he was. He was sportin’ a nice tailored Brooks Brothers suit and a yellow shirt. The get up must’ve set him back a gorgeous penny but he could afford it because I’m pretty certain that’s were my raise went. I kept reminding myself that I was only there ‘cause of the kid. Fat Man liked playing God, I knew that, but I had to ignore that to get through this.

 

Sitting on his desk was that she-cat firebrand in a skirt, Alexandra Monroe. She’s the only one who gets to use his desk like it was a chair. Her pert butt was parked on top of the blotter like it was in its rightful place. Her Speedgraphic reporter’s camera was on her lap, poised to strike.

 

Alex Monroe. Sheesh! So I guess the fates looked down and figured I didn’t have enough troubles for one day. She says she works for the SD Chronicle, but I have my doubts. She’s too well-connected and too well-informed, even for a nosey dame reporter with pin-up good looks. The view was always nice, but she was pure arsenic in silk lace.

 

“Official Borden must be desperate if he’s calling you two losers in on this case.” she started right away.

 

“Hi Alex! Good to see you too.” says Fawkes with that big goofy grin.

 

“Hello, Monroe.” I says. “Victims all escape from your lair? Run outta blood to drink?”

 

“And don’t you forget it, Hobbes.” purred the cat woman. “I expect you’re both in town for the monthly meeting of the Royal Order of Morons.”

 

“I ain’t never socked a dame before.” I said.

 

“Really? Thought for you that’d be flirtin’.”

 

Yeah. She wanted me. Can’t blame her.

 

“Enough! You kids can save the witty repartee for the sandbox!” the Fat Man bellowed. “We’ve got an emergency on our hands.”

 

“Yeah, but what’s this nosey skirt doing here?” I asked.

 

“Shut up and listen for once, Hobbes. I want her here, and that’s all you need to know,” he said as he flicked his C-note stogie into a big amber glass ashtray. “This is a matter of national security.”

 

“We still got to discuss the matter of my remuneration.”

 

“You’ll be compensated. Your normal rate”.

 

“Uh uh. Hazard pay or I walk.”

 

“No you won’t!” he started to move his bulk from the chair. “I want you here and you will fulfill this mission or else…”

 

“Or else what”? I said as I faced him, two bulldogs in a pissing match.

 

He got all smug again, sat back down and looked at the kid. My eyes followed. The kid was standing there in his wrinkled second hand suit doing something that must’ve taken the sum total entirety of his brain power: juggling a stapler, a pen holder and an apple. Dammit! I can’t win! He finally figured out we was looking at him.

 

“What? What’s going on?” he has the nerve to ask as he fumbles his toys.

 

The problem is this: I have motive and opportunity. Cops’ll sure be able to pin it on me when Fawkes’ body ends up in the dumpster behind the “Tire Iron Building”.

 

Eberts started handing me a manila folder. “Give me that, Pillsbury.” I barked as I grabbed the case file from him. He gave me a dirty look for the clever nickname I just gave him. No gratitude.

The Cha Cha Club

 

Did I tell youse mugs about Cassandra? She was this Trojan skirt who got the gift of prophecy from Apollo who had designs on her virtue. When she refused to shack up with the god, he added a little something special to her gift basket: No one would ever believe her, even though she was always right.

 

I know the feeling, babe! Nobody ever listens to me.

 

 

So I lost another cock fight with the Fat Man. What else is yesterday’s news?

 

Next thing I knows all five of us—The Official, Eberts, Monroe, the kid and me—was all dressed up to the nines and trotting straight into Syndicate Central: The Cha Cha Club. It’s the only place in town that can flaunt the laws; they stay open all night and serve liquor the whole time. How’s that for dispensation from on high?

 

This was not exactly how’d I’d seen the night shaping up as far as companionship went. I tried to ignore the memory of how good Viv’s luscious lips felt on mine. I turned my attentions to Monroe, a sure way to forget romance.

 

She looked great in the red sequined skin tight floor length number. All gentlemanly like I opened the door for her.

 

“See Monroe?” I says as I hold the door for her. “Chivalry is not dead.”

 

“No it’s not. Men still put on armor, refrain from bathing and bash each other over the head with large bludgeons. See? Not dead.”

 

“Charming to the end, Monroe. Charming to the end.”

 

Yeah. She wanted me. Couldn’t help her self.

 

I resisted the impulse to straighten the kid’s tux. Even in that fancy get up, he looked wrinkled, but what are ya gonna do? He looked so lost in that suit, like a Sunday school brat who can’t wait to get home and play in the mud. I could see he was itching underneath his cummerbund and the sleeves were too long.

 

We made our way to a reserved table and then I saw a sight that made my jaw drop to the basement and my eyeballs hang outta my head on their stalks. Up on the stage, draped across the black-lacquered grand piano was the vision of Dr. Claire Keeply, oozing out “Body and Soul”. I was like to die, because now my life was complete.

 

Her full breasts looked like they coulda popped free outta the top of that strapless dress. I’d be willing to catch. Her long black gown fit her like I would’ve if I’d had half a chance in the universe. She was a dish and a half and I’d been missing dinner for too long.

 

“Pull yourself together, Hobbesy”, I told myself, “You’re on a mission!” But I felt the room get suddenly a lot warmer and I pulled at my collar.

 

“Ya coulda warned me that Claire was under cover, there, boss man.” I thought but didn’t say.

 

The Fat Man was too busy schmoozing with the locals. Eberts and Fawkes were both like fish out for a Sunday drive in the country. Monroe fit in as always. She wasted no time slinking up the bar and making friends.

 

Fawkes found his way to the men’s room, went see-through and did some handy snooping. Finally, he’s making his self useful and the added advantage is he’s out from underfoot. I treasure these moments.

 

I eyeballed the room with an occasional indulgent glance toward the lovely chanteuse. It looked like the Society Page under Who’s Who What's Connected. There was the lovely Mrs. O’Rorke, the Police Commissioner’s wife. Earl Derr Biggers, man about town, and most likely, international jewel thief extraordinaire. Russian Ambassador Uri Ustinov, Red Man and most likely to succeed as Don of the Russian Mob. Enough said.

 

I did see one mug that made my instincts hit high numbers on the Geiger counter. He was a cool customer and a slippery fish; I could tell. Something told me he was a reefer addict. I didn’t know where he fit on that Who’s Who page, but there was something very familiar about him, but I couldn’t put my finger on the head of the pin. I filed him under “points of interest” and kept my eyes peeled.

 

I could hear Claire soothing out “Glory of Love”.

 

“You’ve got to give a little.

Take a little,

And let your poor heart break a little…”

 

Ah, my lovely canary, ain’t it the truth!

 

Jarod Stark’s people came to usher us into his big office in the back It was me, Eberts and of course The Fat Man who signaled for Monroe to join us. Time to have a little chat with the head of the Syndicate. Can’t say that we don’t enter the front door with everything but guns ablazing. We’ll never surprise these guys by sneaking up and surprising them, but if we ever did, wouldn’t they be shocked. They’ll always know it’s our gang. Not the way I woulda run things, but like I says, Cassandra.

 

I gotta say, Stark has a better office than mine. Even better than The Agency’s digs. It was nice to see The Fat Man waddling in and sitting on the other side of the desk for a change.

 

“Gentlemen and Lady!” Stark greeted us. “It’s so nice of you to visit our humble establishment and bringing me such a pretty package! Please sit down. Charlie, so good to see you again.”

 

He had one of his lackeys place a nice chair out for that “pretty package”, Miss Monroe. “Charlie” sat his rump in the best chair this side of the desk. Me and the other lackey for our side, Eberts stood behind him. Eberts always stood on his right. My radar was on full. I knew we was being watched. It could have been through a peep hole or two, or it could have been a man behind the door that just opened a sliver.

 

“Jarod! Thank you for your hospitality!” he told him, accepting the glass of fancy Bourbon.

 

“What brings you here, Charlie?”

 

“It’s a social call, Jarod. Just wanted to catch up with an old friend.”

 

“How nice! Well, make yourself at home.”

 

I saw some indentations stepping through the plush carpet. The kid was back and watching our backs. I don’t need to see him to know he’d found something good and was wagging his tail. I always know when that mutt of a bloodhound was onto a lead. I kept my poker face.

 

“But, surely, Charlie,” Stark continued, “after all this time, there’s something more on your mind than a friendly little visit. After all…”

 

Stark picked up his martini and tossed it in Fawkes’ direction. The alcohol went all slushy when it hit him and fell to the floor. Fawkes’ cover got blown so he desilvered, all pretty like and brushed off the rest of the drink.

 

“After all, your entire staff is here, such as it is.”

 

“Charlie” barely batted even one of his big fat eyelashes. Eberts got a little unnerved. I’m always the cool guy and Monroe just sat a little straighter in her chair and got more ready for anything than she already was. The kid’s just the kid, as always. His wild hair stood at attention. Sometimes he’s just hanging onto the handle bars and taking a ride with the rest of us.

 

Stark hit the intercom on the desk, and asked for “Delilah” to be brought in. Claire was rather roughly escorted in by one of Stark’s thugs. Discreetly I checked her over, making sure they didn’t bruise the peach. I thought, “Geez! Do I look like that guy? Am I just another stooge, only for the other side?”

 

“Ah, there. So much better! Now the party can begin. Miss Keeply, isn’t it?” He approached her and kissed her hand. I coulda flattened him! “You have a lovely voice, and it’s been a pleasure having you serenade us with your talents.”

 

“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Stark.” she said all sweet as honey, but I saw her wipe her hand when she got it back.

 

“Good girl.” I thought.

 

“Very well.” Fat Man says to him. “We’ll get down to it. Stark, we know about your latest scheme.”

 

“Charlie!” he chuckled. “You watch too many Saturday serialized melodramas! What scheme is this? I’m an honest businessman and I keep my nose clean.”

 

“Of course you do. Then you know nothing about a few high odds boxing matches that are pending? Perhaps the one between Sammy ‘The Slammer’ Sullivan and ‘Murder’ Murdock for example.”

 

“Charlie, are you accusing me of fight fixing? This is outrageous.”

 

“It’s been known to have been done.”

 

“Is this any way to treat your host? You’re company is beginning to bore me, Charlie.”

 

Stark gave a little signal and it was like show time for me. One of his mugs came at me, and I easily slammed him down with a few of my patented moves. Right hook. Left jab. Brooklyn style. Fawkes backed off, looking worried. Eberts gave our minor scuffle a wide berth. Monroe just looked bored. “Charlie” kept his eyes on “Jarod.”. The two of them were playing chess at the expense of us pawns. Just some more posturing between two opponents, trying to decide with their little marble pieces who was the better man. How d’ya like that?

 

I guess I passed the test, because next thing I know Stark is clapping.

 

 “Very nice, Mr. Hobbes. Most impressive. If you get tired of working for this delusional loser, the door is open at Chrysalis.”

 

I shot the Fat Man a smug glance, but he didn’t even look in my direction. I could pretend for a split second that I was the kind of guy who could squelch my conscience and work on the other side of the law, just like it was all the same. All this notion did was make the kid look more worried. I’ll knock him upside the head later; he should know me better. Borden sure did.

Not So Silly Putty

 

“Report!” Borden demanded when we was back in his office.

 

Monroe says “I found a lead to Murdock; his manager was at the bar, spreading money around. I’ll be seeing him tonight.”

 

“Good. Next”.

 

Claire says, “Their headquarters has become a hive of activity. Over the few days that I sang there, the whole place became increasingly more active. Several large shipments of chemicals went in and out. They’re obviously preparing for a big operation.”

 

I told him about the four characters of interest that dotted the Cha Cha Club, including Mr. Mystery Man that I still couldn’t figure. That just stuck in my craw.

 

The kid was waiting for his turn, all happy like. Finally, he brought out a small ball of some rubbery stuff. It had impressions of funny paper all over it; I could see Flathead from Dick Tracy comics on one side and Charlie Chan overlapped slightly with Flash Gordon. I’m glad he does research in crime fighting. He was pleased as a punch drunk fighter after a big win.

 

“Congratulations, Fawkesy.” I says, “You got yourself some Silly Putty.” I was wondering if that invisibility thing had finally pushed him over the edge.

 

“Cool it, Hobbes.” he says, looking smug as the canary what swallowed the cat.

 

“This is the stuff I picked up in a back room at the Cha Cha Club.” he tells us. “They had a small lab back there, but maybe several tons of this stuff!”

 

“So they’re running a toy factory? What’s the deal?” I asks, genuinely mystified by the gooey glob he was so excited about.

 

“Ah, but, you haven’t seen what this baby can do, Hobbes!” Fawkes said, like a cheesy huckster.

 

He carefully pulled out a very tiny piece of the putty, which he had wrapped in cotton. It was no bigger than a thin Winged Liberty Head dime and it was dry, unlike the pliable ball he had been playing with. He tossed it to the floor and “POOF” it went up and made a sound like a firecracker on Chinese New Year and left a charcoal burn on the fancy carpet.

 

I whistled.

 

“It takes a catalyst to get it to dry up and turn explosive. This stuff.” He tossed a small bottle filled with green liquid to Claire who snapped it out of the air easily and held it up to the light. Classy dame. “I saw the whole lecture demonstration when I was under cover in that back room.”

 

“Ya done good, Fawkes!” I says and gives him a deserved pat on the back. He smiled wider than the Pacific. It’s good to see him happy with his work.

 

“I expect that before combining, both components of the formula lack volatility.” Claire says.

 

I love it when she talks all scientific like.

 

“Better check it, Eberts.” the Fat Man ordered.

 

Eberts pulled out his Geiger counter and ran it over the comic printed putty on the desk.

 

“This is hot, sir. The count is 35,000. This should be stored in lead.” Eberts informed us.

 

“I’ll take care of it. I’ll be making a full analysis of both the putty and the catalyst.” Claire told us.

 

“Sir, if this were set off in large amounts at any key point, say power station or even a water supply, the could easily be dire consequences. It’s immensely destructive and can cause widespread contamination.” Eberts warned.

 

“Well, Hobbes? What’s the verdict? Why don’t you sum up?”

 

Borden actually wanted my opinion. Stop the presses, Monroe!

 

“Chrysalis is planning to bull’s-eye something big with their play putty here. Stark and his people are rigging fights because they need some fast cash for the operation. Playing with fighters is too high profile for them to do unless their bank account was in the ‘Empty’ zone. My gut tells me there might be something else going on with the fighters.”

 

“This is why I called you all in here on short notice.” Borden says. “We knew something was going down. We need to define what it is, where it is, when it is, and we need to stop it. We need to know why they’re doing this. To forward what end?”

 

“World domination?” Fawkes chimed in and got the eye from all of us.

 

“Mmm. Happy thought. Let’s sleep on it. Good work, team! Hobbes and Fawkes, stay here. I’ve got an assignment for you both.”

 

Honor Among Thieves

 

The next night found us breaking into “The World Famous Wax Museum of Infamous Crime”. It was one of those creepy places with life-like wax sculptures with glass peepers that eyeball you around the room. The exhibits displayed people like Lizzie Borden, Al Capone and Jack the Ripper. I don’t need anything more to remind me what kind of people there are and have been in this world. It’s my job to stop these goons and here they was getting put on a pedestal all fancy and done up like they was going to a Sunday tea social.

 

When we got into the Den of Thieves exhibit area, Fawkes’ eyes went all wide like.

 

“Wow, Hobbes! This is great!” he said in awe. “These guys were my heroes.”

 

“I suppose you had all their trading cards and comic books.” I cracked.

 

“When I was a kid, I sure did!”

 

“What?” I couldn’t believe my ears.

 

“Hobbes! This is Benny ‘The Beast’ Beasley.” he told me pointing at one of the dummies. “He knocked over the Stillman Mint back in ’36. It was the biggest heist up till that time. The McCafferty Clan took him out in ’42. They Swiss cheesed him. He had so many slugs in him, his own mother couldn’t recognize the body. Those were the days.”

 

“The good times, eh?”

 

“And this guy!” he said pointing at another one. “Charlie ‘The Charmer’ Chandler. He ran a huge swindle, taking about 400 little old ladies for the ride of their lives as he relieved them of their life savings. I guess there was a run on little old ladies with fat bankrolls back in the day. Clark “The Caper” Calhoun didn’t want the competition so he bludgeoned Chandler to death; used the guy’s own walking stick. Classy, eh?”

 

“Oh, yeah. Real classy! Queen of England ain’t got nothing for class on ‘The Caper’.” I says holding up my hand with my little finger stuck out.

 

“Maggie ‘The Magician’ Oland. Greatest pickpocket in history.”

 

“Oh yeah? A skirt, huh?”

 

“Crime knows no bounds. It was a great loss to the profession when her car got stuck on the railroad track. Odd coincidence.

 

“Louie ‘The Lifter’ Toler!”

 

“What got him?”

 

“Oh, ewe! Never mind.” he said with distaste as he read the story.

 

“Fawkes, do you see a pattern here?”

 

“Louie ‘the Louse’ Elwood, the greatest safecracker of…” he said like a kid in a candy store.

 

“How did he die?”

 

“FBI bust on his bootlegging operation. Dropped him with one shot from a scaffold in a ware house.”

 

“Mmm. Bootlegger AND a Can Opener. A real renaissance guy.” I said.

 

“Yeah, he got around.”

 

“How about this mug?” I asked.

 

“Purly ‘The Purloiner’ Smith.” he said like he was talking about Babe Ruth or Jumpin' Joe DiMaggio.

 

“Yeah?” I was waiting.

 

“Well this was different,” he said.

 

“How different?”

 

“He died of natural causes.”

 

“Like…”

 

“Drowned.”

 

I looked at the panel in front of the display. “From what it says here I think that maybe those concrete galoshes he was wearing might have helped out with those ‘natural causes.’”

 

He sulked. I hate it when he sulks.

 

“Look kid, all’s I’m saying is that crime doesn’t pay. Sooner or later, no matter how big you are, no matter how many incredible heists you pull off, no matter how many molls you got sitting on your lap, lighting your big fat cigars…Sooner or later youse gonna get it in the end.”

 

I didn’t mean to burst his bubble, but I had to talk some sense into his goofed up head. I didn’t realize he had so many mixed up ideas in that hairy skull of his.

 

“I guess I’ll never end up in here with these guys. I’m just Darien ‘The Big Nothing’ Fawkes.”

 

“You got the dummy routine down. We could install you as a Wax guy anytime.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.”

 

“Hey look Fawkes! It’s an exhibit of you over there by the exit.” I told him while I pointed at an empty space.

 

“Ha ha! Very funny! I get it. It’s the Invisible Exhibit. Cute. Really cute. You missed your calling in Vaudeville!”

 

“Well, what do you want me to say? ‘Geez, Fawkes, I hope you get famous for pulling some lame-brained caper, meet the bad end of a boom stick and end up a dummy in a cheesy Wax Museum?’ Now there’s something to aspire to. Didn’t you have any real heroes in them days?”

 

“I have…I have another hero. Yeah.” he said under his breath, but I heard him.

 

“Who? Who are you new heroes? Lucrecia Borgeous? Billy the Kid? Jesse James?” I prompted.

 

“There were some great train robberies.” he said getting that dreamy look again.

 

“How about them guys in Arabia Land who get their hands chopped off for being kleptos? How about them guys?”

 

Now he was pouting.

 

“I should have known you wouldn’t understand.”

 

“I’m sorry, kid. Look, can we forget about the Hall of Shame for a few minutes and get the evidence we need and get out of here?” I asked.

 

We continued through the exhibits room, them eyes following us the whole way. I took a few more steps and I stopped for a second, sensing something different. I tapped my foot on the floor in a few places. Beautiful!

 

“Becoming a hoofer?" he asks me. "You’d be a cute Rockette.”

 

“I’ll start by high kicking your butt. Give me a hand and if you clap I’ll knock you upside the head.”

 

I had the kid help me move Jesse James aside, bags of heisted goods and all, and revealed a once secret doorway in the floor.

 

See What's on the Slab

 

The door pulled up from the floor with a fierce creak that would’ve woke up the dummies. Maybe this was a bomb shelter for the stiffs, but judging from the gooseflesh that covered my spine, I thought it was something more.

 

I nodded at Fawkes. Then the kid disappeared and dropped down first with a light “thwop”. I followed and then we was in another world. The museum was dark and a bit dusty. This joint was all shiny and new.

 

“Go get ‘em, sport!" I whispered into the air.
 

“You got it!” And he went off to reconnoiter.

 

From the look of things, it seemed to be some sort of Frankenstein’s laboratory. I ain’t never seen so many scientific lookin’ gee gaws all together in one place. I figured that Dr. Claire would have had a good time in here and Eberts would probably have some fun too. He liked widgets.

 

“Hobbes,” Fawkes whispered as he approached me. He put his arm around me before I could stop him and I went Quicksilver with him and disappeared. Now I could see him and he was worried. “This place is crawling with guys! But, you gotta get a load of this room.”

 

He led me into his find. We stood on a stair way along the side of a giant expanse. Here, underneath the streets of San Diego was a giant warehouse of scientific experiments. There was guys laying around on about 30 tables, all in rows and columns like they was a crop of beans.

 

I recognized Mr. Mystery from the Cha Cha Club. He was wearing lab coat instead of a fancy tux and was working over a really muscular guy who was laying on a table. He injected him with something that looked an awful lot like the stuff The Agency gives to the kid. The guy on the table looked familiar to me as well. I never forget a face, a body type, and a set of mannerisms, the things that make a mug a mug. It’s one of my many underappreciated skills.

 

“Fawkes, you know either one of those guys.” I says as quietly as possible.

 

“That skinny one reminds me of Arnaud de Ferhn, but it ain’t him. Not ugly enough.”

 

“Bingo! Kid, you’re onto something.” I told him.

 

“Why are you always so surprised, Hobbes?”

 

“How long do we got?” I asked referring to the time left for him and me to be unseen.

 

“Only a few minutes. We should blow!”

 

But before we could get out of there we watched the guy on the table start to change. His face went through several phases before turning into Sammy “The Slammer” Sullivan, Vivian’s fighter. Since I was brought in to look after Fawkes, I seen a lot of kooky things, but this took the whole bakery. I ain’t never seen a face alter up right before my eyes. It set me on edge.

 

We knew we didn’t have any more time. Then I realized we’d stepped in it, again. Under our feet was this sparkly sand stuff, and we was leaving prints now every where we went, just advertising where we was. They must’ve put it down just for our benefit.

 

Next thing I knows, we was made. We tried to run, but several Chrysalis goons was on us like ugly on one of Stark’s bootlickers.

 

They pulled us apart, so I was visible almost immediately. Kid followed suit and I caught the red snake on his wrist and the panic in his eyes.

 

“Well, Mr. Hobbes and Mr. Fawkes!” says Stark in his smarmy way as he walked up to us. “I must say, you’ve begun to wear out your welcome.”

 

“Hobbes!” the kid yelled for me, but I was as helpless as he was. The look in his eye tore my heart out. He was scared, really scared. Damn! Fear haunted his face as he fought against the iron arms of the thug. It wouldn’t be long now before his timer went ding, and his brain went ding dong and we both knew it.

 

“Let him go, you sonnafabitch!” I said as I struggled fiercely against the grip. “I swear if you touch one hair on his scrawny ass, I’ll have your kidneys for breakfast! I’ll serve your brains to the vultures! I’ll string you up by your garbanzo beans!”

 

“Now now, Hobbes!” he says all smug like. “I expect that you both give me a little entertainment before all this is over! It’s the least you can do for breaking into my private concern.”

 

“Look,” I says, “do what you want with me, but let the kid go!”

 

“There’s a thing!” he said has he waved a finger in the air. “Hobbes, have you given any thought to my offer? I can always use another good man. I know you are poorly compensated for your abilities. I think you deserve more, don’t you? Maybe some female companionship?”

 

That was below the belt.

 

“So, Hobbes. What about it?”

 

I had a thought. I stopped struggling against the thug.

 

“Actually, I have thought it through.” I lied. “You’re right. There really ain’t nothing in it for me to stick with Borden. He treats me like the dirt he kicks off his boots after a fox hunt at the country club. I would be interested in what you may have for me.”

 

“Hobbes! No! Don’t listen to him!” the kid moaned. Keep it up, kid. You’re helping make this sound convincing and I’ll smack you later for thinking I’d really go over.

 

“That’s just terrific, Hobbes! I thought you’d see it my way. But, first tonight a little test of your intentions.”

 

Stark ordered his boys to “get them ready”. As he checked Fawkes’ tattoo, he says “Excellent.” like it was a good thing my friend and partner was about to lose what there was of his marbles. Stark knew too much  and had too many things on us. I didn’t like that at all.

 

He gave a couple of signals to his buddies and we was carted off to separate holding areas. I could only sit and stew, worrying about Fawkes. God knows what he was going through. After a few tense hours, they come and got me.

 

Farewell My Sanity

 

Next thing I knew, I was being paraded down the aisle at the Fight Arena like I was a prized poulet-fed bantam. They found a cute little satin purple ensemble for me, robe and all. Bet I looked just adorable.

 

The place was swarming to the rafters with rabid fight fans. The company came to the party just to see the feature fight between Sullivan and Murdock; it was the hottest ticket in town. Me and some other mug was to be the first blood drawn for the evening, just like we was appetizers on some fancy buffet feast of fracas.

 

Don’t get me wrong. I like a good brawl as much as the next slob, but all this fight fixing low down dirty business gives me a pain. If it’s rigged, the face-off ain’t worth the paper the ticket is printed on. If the Syndicate got its fingers in the pie then I’m across town doing something more interesting like playing tiddlywinks.

 

My stomach was sunk as it was and then who did I see in the other corner but my best friend in the world, Darien Fawkes. My partner barely recognized me. He was that far gone.

 

When he gets like this, his eyeballs go all red. It ain’t pretty. He sat there staring at me as Stark’s boys gloved him up and got him ready for the match. When I entered the ring, he looked hungry like maybe my jugular vein was the blue plate special and he’d skipped lunch.

 

I saw Stark sitting pretty in the front row and I leaped through the ropes and tried to lunge for him. His body guards held me back but he could hear what I hadda say.

 

“Hey, this wasn’t part of our deal! I said I‘d fight a guy to show you what I could do! Not that guy! He ain’t even in his right head.”

 

“Mr. Hobbes, if you truly want to show me that you’re ready to be a part of my organization, I suggest you get back in that ring. I can’t use you if you practice disobedience. The crowd is waiting.”

 

“Why you lousy…” I struggled against the two mugs that flanked me.

 

“Besides, you have no choice. Get in there now, or I’ll send in one of my men to finish him off.”

 

His goons all “helped” me to get back into the ring, by shoving my body back up onto the fight platform. I had to face Fawkes, in all his Quicksilver Madness glory, or Stark’s stooges would simply execute him. Maybe I stood a chance of being able to score a KO and get him back to the Agency. It was a long shot, but it was the only shot I had.

 

That “maybe” got dim when I got back in the ring and saw Fawkes seeing red—literally. The kid was staring at me. There are very few things that can scare Bobby Hobbes. I’m a tough guy, ya see; I grew up in Brooklyn. But, here I am sitting across from the one item that makes my blood go cold like ice cubes in a Rob Roy.

 

More of Stark’s thugs was around me, putting my gloves on me. I started warming up for the match of my life. Fawkes was bouncing around in the other corner, gettin’ the crowd’s favor.

 

“I’m ready! I’m gonna kill him! Yeah! You wanna see that?” he yelled and raised his gloved hands. They loved it. Kid’s got no limit on charm.

 

The announcer was starting up.

 

"Welcome to the San Diego Fight Arena. Tonight’s main event…"

 

The referee got us both to the center of the ring. “Boys, I want a good clean fight. Nothing fancy. No holds. No kidney punches. You mugs got that? Now touch gloves and give me an honorable match.”

 

Fawkes punched my gloves with force, almost knocking me back from the get go. Referee gave him a dirty look, but that was all.

 

The announcer started to call the match.

.

 "For the first time anywhere, our opening match of the evening.

 

 "In this corner, wearing purple and weighting in at 165 of solid muscle, Bobby “The Ba Ha Bomber” Hobbes.

 

 "In this corner, wearing red and weighting in at 188, Darien “The Dare Devil” Fawkes.

 

 "They both appear tonight for their first professional bout going three rounds. Winner takes a $200 purse. But, don’t worry folks, we have got plenty more action on the card tonight."

 

Fawkes was bounding around in his corner, yelling and working the crowd into the frenzy they came to get worked into.

 

“C’mon! Who’s the king? C’mon you bastards! You want blood? I’ll give you blood. I’ll take this guy apart. Tear him limb from limb! Yeah!” Fawkes yelled as the crowd cheered.

 

"I’m telling ya, the people like the spirit of these two newcomers. Hobbes and Fawkes get a huge ovation from the crowd of more than 5,000 here tonight."

 

Over all the commotion, I could still catch parts of what the announcer was saying. I could still hear over the thumping in my own chest. It was time.

 

Clang. Clang.

 

"22:18 The bell goes for the start of the fight.

 

"Round One

 

"Fawkes strides into the ring and Hobbes immediately
squares up to him. Hobbes is feeling Fawkes out, and getting ready.

 

"Fawkes towers over Hobbes, who looks nervous at the start.

 

"Both boys working rather slowly, getting a feel for one another."

 

Fawkes leered at me with a sneering grin that would make the devil jealous of his knack for snarling. The kid has some street smarts, but I was the guy who taught him about proper fighting. He knew my moves, but I knew his too.

 

"Hobbes is shuffling around. He’s looking good. Looks like he’s had some fight training. Hobbes is flat footing it. Fawkes looks like he’s got energy going for him."

 

I was dancing around Fawkes, trying to size him up. He was all crazed, which meant he was stronger than ever, but he was also off balance with emotion. When he gets like this he’s on full tilt. I know I can use that to my advantage.

 

 "Fawkes lunges forward and Hobbes connects with a series
of big lefts. Right upper cut.

 

"Fawkes responds with left jab. Another.

 

"Ooo! Hobbes is cut. He’s bleeding from his forehead."

 

The blood dripping in buckets down my face made Fawkes hungry for more. He gave me that eerie smile. It’s not him, but it is. I'm looking into the very depths of his dark side of his soul and I'm guessing that's why it's so damn scary.

 

"This match has no precedent. It could go either way. Fawkes, the big man could take it for size and muscle. Hobbes has agility and more experience as his advantage. Fawkes seems off balance. He's eager."

 

Now, like I says, I’m still a good dick, no matter what’s going on. When Stark’s thugs was so kindly shoving me back into the ring, my brain worked on automatic like ENIAC. In a split second I still got to look over the crowd. I saw the lovely Dr. Claire. Her pretty brow furrowed with worry. She was sitting next to The Fat Man and Eberts. I knew those two couldn’t resist a good show.

 

I also saw some of the old gang from the Cha Cha Club. Mrs. O’Rourke had her ermine draped over her shoulders and this time she had her Police Chief husband in tow. Earl Derr Biggers looked like he was holding court, all proper-like with his cane and monocle. The Big Fat Red, Ustinov, was sporting a horse-choking wad of C-notes that he was wavin’ in the air as he ordered bets—the capitalist pig! Monroe sat pretty between those two characters. I wouldn’t want her job.

 

and of course, just to make the bill complete, Vivian sat in a VIP seat so she could see her men get to turn other guys into pulp, or vice versa. Viv was as surprised to see me in that ring on the same card with my partner as I was. She wrung her handkerchief in her lap.

 

"Crowd is booing. They want to see some action from the newcomers.

 

"Hobbes is backing off, trying to stay out of Fawkes’ long reach.

 

"Fawkes tries a straight right-hander. Hobbes shifts, not letting Fawkes connect.

 

"Hobbes, backing off, dancing around Fawkes.

 

"Fawkes connects with a left jab And another. He’s fierce. Right hook. Right jab. Another. Another. Another. Rapid fire.

 

"Hobbes has lost his gum-shield."

 

I couldn’t just hold back and let him use me as a punching bag. I had to try to KO him. Fawkes, this hurts me more than it hurts you, buddy! I know that for a fact because you ain’t feeling no pain right now.

 

"Hobbes comes out at Fawkes at last. Right jab. Left hook. And another. Right upper cut. He’s scoring big. Hobbes is really working on Fawkes, wearing the big man down. Fawkes is looking weaker.

 

"Crowd is loving this…"

 

I let go and hammered him with all I had. I thought I had him. I hoped the Quicksilver Madness rush would have also weakened him. Then he got a second wind like I hadn’t just hit him with the Bobby Hobbes signature ton of anvils and started yelling at me, as if to goad me.

 

“C’mon, Hobbes! C’mon! Is that all you got? Come and get me, partner! What, are you scared?” And he let out a blood stopping war yelp and lunged toward me with murder in his red eyes. He got me so fast even I couldn’t get away.

 

"Fawkes pins Hobbes on the ropes. He’s holding him, folks! "Fawkes has ripped off a glove and he’s strangling his opponent. "This is clearly a grudge match. Fawkes looks murderous. The referee separates them."

 

“Break it up, boys!” The Referee said as he pulled Fawkes away. “I won’t stand for this in my ring, d’ya hear?

 

"Fawkes’ people are helping him with his glove.

 

"All eyes are focused on the ring. The crowd is booing. The ref is waving off the signal for end of round. He’s going to let them continue. I have never, in my 20 years of fight broadcasting, seen anything like this."

 

OK. There’s always Plan B. Looking back I realize I don’t think I coulda KO’d Fawkes in the state he was in. I’d have to try something else. With all my heart I didn’t want to hurt him, but if this continued only one of us was gonna walk outta that ring alive, and I wouldn’t have been real happy with either outcome.

 

"Hobbes is coming up behind Fawkes. What’s this?

 

"Hobbes locks Fawkes in an alligator hold around the neck.

 

"Another illegal hold. Half the crowd boos their disapproval. Half the crowd is cheering with the excitement.

 

"These fans have come here to see fight action and they’re getting it.

 

"The ref tries to break up Hobbes and Fawkes.

 

"He’s got 2 helpers in the ring. They manage to break them apart. Fawkes goes insane. He’s taking on the referee and his staffers!

 

"Ladies and Gentlemen, this is a scene. Fawkes is swinging at the ref staff.

 

"Hobbes locks him again around the neck. They let him finish the job. Fawkes slumps down."

 

Clang Clang

 

"22:42 The round is called. No winner.

 

"A couple of fans are in the ring. Maybe it’s Fawkes’ wife.  She has a syringe, and she’s injecting Fawkes with something. He might be a heroin addict!

 

"Well, folks, not the way the opening match usually goes but it was quite a show.

 

"OK. Next on the bill tonight…

 

Thank God for Dr. Claire! But, was she too late? She looked worried again as she checked the kid’s vitals. I realized he wasn’t breathing.

“No!” I said. It couldn’t be! "Please say I didn’t kill him! Not him!" I pleaded.

She looked grim as she worked on him. He looked pale. Still no breath. What have I done? I woulda let him cream me if I'd had a choice.

“Nooooo!!!!!!!!” I yelled, but my scream didn’t pierce the roar of the crowd, who’d gotten their first blood. I could taste the salt and iron in my mouth as I prayed to any god who would listen and save Fawkes' life.

I don't remember but they says I was saying "Please! Take me instead! Take me instead!" over and over again.

 

The Fallout


I do remember I was shipwrecked inside as I watched the fight people carry the kid away on a stretcher. Fawkes had stopped breathing, and my heart had stopped beating.

The hold I used is meant to make your opponent pass out long enough for you to get away. It shouldn’t kill. But, what if I held it too long? What if that barrage of jabs I gave him messed him up more than it should’ve? What if it’s all a side effect of the Madness that was triggered by the pummeling I gave him?

I felt some guys pick me up and cart me out of the ring like I was some kind of Raggedy Andy doll. This little toss-away fight was over; now they take out the trash and get the ring ready for the next bloody cock fight.

My swollen peepers got to make contact with Stark long enough to watch his expression go from smug satisfaction to fear. I sent him daggers with my eyes. I’d prayed he could “hear” the vow I’d made in my head, as if I could radiograph it through the air. No matter what happened, no matter where he went, no matter how many body guards, no matter what it cost me, I’d track him down and kill him with my bare hands.

Vivian came running up to me. I could sense her by my side holding my arm and helping me to the locker room where they had Fawkes. Oh god, I don’t think I could bear to see him dead, but I had to know. I came up face to face with the Fat Man. He shook his head. Oh god, no! He took me by the other arm, and together they brought me to where Claire and another doctor was working on Fawkes’ limp body.

I saw the neat hole they cut in his throat. He was breathing again, and now so could I.

“He’s going to be OK, Bobby.” Claire told me. “You accidentally collapsed his trachea. We’ve got an ambulance waiting to take him to the hospital. We need to move.”

I put my hands on both of Claire’s pretty shoulders, for a moment, because I was too choked to say “Thanks.” Bless her for making a point to say “accidentally”. I appreciated that because it was true, but I needed to hear it. Coulda been the fact that Fawkes was crazed, and struggling against me. It coulda been that I was so charged up I over did it, and held him too hard without realizing. In any case, I’d hurt him and almost killed him. I would never be able to live with myself if I’d done him in. I’d rather be dead myself.

They put the kid on a stretcher and moved him out to the ambulance. I walked along with him. I didn’t care who saw my tears, now tears of relief. Not the usual thing worn by this bruno, but who cares? Fawkes was going to be all right, no thanks to me.

Claire came after me with some swabs, cleaned the blood out of my wounds and patched me up where she could. I was barely aware she was doing it. Couldn’t have been easy to get a moving target.

“I want on that meat wagon with him.” I said to them. “No arguments.” And no one even tried.
 

Déjà Vu All Over Again

The big fight was plastered all over the front page of the Chronicle. Sullivan, the long shot, had won that match with a KO in the 7th round. Murdock was in the hospital with a cracked skull and a brain scrambled the way I like my eggs. That’s the price of making a living as a punching bag. He’d most likely never recover from that brutal battle.

And they think we don’t have gladiators any more! Take away the fight to the death because we’s supposed to be all civilized like, but it’s all the same thing. What didn’t set right with me is that I knew Stark’s people had a hand in it. If it were fair and square, then them’s the breaks. But, if it’s a grift then everyone’s a loser.

Monroe had the headline, lead story and some pretty pictures for the splash. She managed to get a close up of the deciding paste as it connected with Murdock’s jaw. Talented lady and not squeamish like most dames. Sheesh. She was not squeamish like I can be when I see mugs looking like ground meat.

Word on the street said that the Syndicate grabbed the lion’s share of the winnings from the bets. No surprise there. There was a tiny little article on the third page about some poor slob trying to investigate fight fixing. Yeah, that’ll go far before he gets his brain cracked open for asking questions. I like optimists; they make me giggle.

Vivian says she’s back with the “man she loves” and he’s great and everything’s just perfect now that the fight is done. No more using his squeeze for target practice. He was just going through something before the big match, but now he’s just a peach. Isn’t that sweet? I hope they let me show up for the ceremony and toss rice at them both, now that they’s all happy like. I always cry at weddings.

I was having déjà vu all over again. There I was back in our office with that damn Smithfield puzzle sitting on my dirty blotter. There was one particular puzzle piece that wouldn’t fit, no matter how many times I put it in and pulled it out again. My pick for Most Likely to be the Murderer was Barney Evers but he had an air tight alibi. Lots of witnesses swore they were with him at the Cha Cha Club that evening when Robert Smithfield, now an ex-stockbroker, was having his heart removed prematurely.

Fawkes was bored and making a fleet of paper airplanes out of whatever scraps of paper he could find. It’s like trying to work with an antsy 5 year old in your office. The bandage on his neck only reminded me of what I’d done only yesterday.

“Fawkes, go down to the pharmacy and get your self a cherry soda, would you?” I said as I rubbed my hand over my face and dug into my tired eyes.

“Sure. Why don’t you come with me? Take a break.”

“Because what you see here, my friend is a man trying to work for a legal living and keep us both out of the slammer for bad debts. I know it’s a strange sight for you; you were never big on the whole work thing, but here it is. Take a good look. Now get lost!” I snapped.

There I goes, making him feel bad again. God, I have a knack for taking the fairy dust outta his day. But, I still don’t get it; why ain’t he sore with me? I sure was.

“OK, Hobbes. I’m sorry.” he looked deflated, like a busted balloon from the Macy’s Parade. Dammit! He started to make for the door and before I could stop him, the horn started to jangle.
 

Not Quite Crooked Enough


I turned on the old Bobby Hobbes charm for Borden’s pretty secretary, but I didn’t have time to ask her to dinner. I didn’t even have time to smell the fresh flowers before Eberts carted us into the inner sanctum.

Sharing a drink with the Fat Man was Earl Derr Biggers, the master jewel thief—alleged. I didn’t even have to look at Fawkes to know he was going all mooshy over the guy. Another damn hero.

Monroe was there, but she was using the same kind of chair the rest of us use. Pleasantries were exchanged. We can all be good when we got company. Well, most of us can.

“Mr. Biggers, I just want to say I admire your work.” Fawkes gushed.

“Fawkes…” Borden began.

“I…I’d love to talk to you some time about the way you scored the 84 carat Hooper Diamond.”

“That was a long time ago, Mr. Fawkes. I’m not proud of my old ways.” Biggers told him. “The Hooper Diamond has long since been returned by me to its rightful owners. It took a great deal of work on my part to get it back.”

“But, it was amazing! You were amazing! You outsmarted every one and every thing they had in place. Alarms. Guards. Locks. The job was a masterpiece! You even worked with the Canarsie Kid! If I could just…”

“Fawkes! Shut up!” Borden bellowed, finally stopping my runny mouthed partner.

“I believe you may all know Commissioner Biggers by his former reputation.” Borden said. “A reputation which he has been using as his cover. What you may not know, since it is privileged information, is that he had since joined Scotland Yard in their Special Branch, and is in charge of International Investigations.”

“I now use my old skills to fight crime, Mr. Fawkes. I suggest you continue to take the opportunity you’ve been given to do the same. Mr. Borden has been filling me in about you. You are in a position to use your many abilities to do great good.”

I’m not the only on who can dust off the magic sprinkles that Fawkes uses to sugar coat his world. Another bad guy turns good guy and betrays the trade. I’m not gonna say anymore that I wanna smack the kid around, because I already did that, and I didn’t much care for it.

Fawkes’ brain was having some trouble with all that he’d just been handed, and to if the truth be heard, so did mine. I figured Biggers all wrong, and I hate that. I pride myself on being able to size up any bird at a glance, and I’d been way off about Biggers. It meant that he was good, really good if he could snow Bobby Hobbes with his bad guy cover. I was still gonna keep an eye on him; I trust my own instincts.

 

Too Many Bad Guys

 

The pretty Doctor joined our tea party. Her gorgeous eyes were bloodshot. She hadn’t had too much nap time. Must’ve been up all night working on her explosives puzzle. Damn this whole thing. I can think of better ways for Claire to be spending her evenings.

“Let’s get down to business, shall we?” Borden began, after Claire got herself settled. “We know that as of last night’s fight the Syndicate now has access to the funds they need. Monroe?”

“This morning, this was on my desk for publication. They gave The Chronicle an ultimatum to print it or else.” she told us.

She handed us a piece of paper emblazoned with a manifesto from a group calling themselves The International Revolutionary Brigade for People’s Resistance and Liberation Council. The little tome rambled on about how the US of A’s government is a danger to ourselves and others. Gets my blood boiling. I love my country and I hate the creeps who threaten its security.

“The editor isn’t about to budge on this, so the ‘or else’ springs to mind. They’ve threatened to hit a major target.”

Fawkes read the fanatics’ drivel and his eyes narrowed.

“Their whole tirade is a con.” he stated as he passed the paper back for Ebert’s file. “Same old same old. You tell enough truths and say the things that people want to hear that soon you can get them to buy anything else you have to say.”

“Of course it’s a con. These guys appeal to the need in most people to accomplish something good. The followers feel they’re joining a holy war and furthering the will of a higher power.” I added.

“So what is this ‘or else’ all about?” I really wanted them to get to the point. I was itching for a fight—a real fight with people who deserve to have their windpipes collapsed.

“Intelligence has discovered that the terrorists are going to destroy Niagara Falls.” the Official stated. “The attack will ruin an international natural wonder, contaminate the water and destroy a key power plant. We can’t evacuate the area without showing our hand. If we don’t stop this, people will die.”

“Put me in the ball game, boss.” I told the Official. “I’m ready to knock one outta the park!”

“I knew I could count on you, Bobby.” he said.

Fawkes looked thoughtful. The kid can’t stand to see anyone hurt, and these goons’ whole reason for being on the planet was to just that, to cause pain and hurt. Killing was also good in their book, if it furthered their cause.

“Doctor? What have you discovered about this explosive?” Borden asked.

“I’ve made a full analysis.” she told us. “In its putty form, it is in an inert state and is relatively harmless. Radioactivity is present. However, it poses little danger if handled correctly.

“The introduction of the catalyst causes the putty to harden and become extremely volatile. The prepared explosive then requires a trigger, which must produce heat and percussion to trigger combustion.” Claire informed us.

“Like striking a match.” Fawkes added.

“Yes. Exactly, except with the hardened putty, the stronger the percussive nature of the trigger, the larger the explosion.”

“How is it set off specifically? A simple fuse?” Fawkes was getting this and paying attention. He’s smarter than he looks; he’d have to be. Plastic explosives he knew about from the old days. Perhaps that bit of literature he just consumed must’ve got caught in his craw. It did in mine.

“Something more combustible.” She told us. “A stick of dynamite would do nicely. Impact can trigger the explosion, as well as heat. However, the combination of the two in great force would cause the greatest concussion.”

“We believe that Chrysalis is trying to instigate WW3. They’re working with this terrorist group to bring this about.” Biggers informed us. “With the world in chaos, they can grab power. If it fails, they can pin the blame on the terrorists.”

I’d already been in the thick of a little scrap known as World War II. Traipsing off across the Earth to get into another scuffle like that did not fit with the plans I had for my future. I found that now I had an opportunity to avert such a scuffle. Doing this little job for the Fat Man’s Agency started out as something personal; I was helping Fawkes. Now the stakes in this little game of poker had been raised. I wanted to stop these guys before they could do any damage.

If we could fight this on our terms, maybe we could be fighting that third World War without all the bloodshed; we’d win that war before it was even started.

“The guys with the trick faces? They would be switched into key leadership positions?” Fawkes asks.

“That’s exactly it, Mr. Fawkes.” Biggers said.

“We’re all going to have to be on board for this operation.” The Official stated. “We’re going on a jaunt together. It’ll be like a Honeymoon, just the seven of us.” he smirked.

Then they went on to outline the whole crazy plan.

I whistled quietly.

I looked at the kid. He was smiling!

“What?” I says.

“Road trip!”

Everyone but Biggers was just shaking their heads.
 

Crime Pays


Fortunately, the “road trip” took us as far as the airport. There we picked up a sweet DC-3. Sometimes when you let the devil borrow your soul, it’s worth it. This would be a nice ride to hell.

“Nice bird!” I says. Got one of those looks from Monroe. Yeah, babe, I’m talking about the pretty crate and not your sweet cheeks, sister!

I didn’t mind so much anymore that the Fat Man was using my services. It was no longer against my will. I was ready to do whatever I would have to in order to stop these mental patients from getting away with murder.

Fawkes had never flown before, and now he was in for the ride of his life, a cross country junket to Niagara Falls.

We all got on the plane and got cozy. Fawkes got to sit next to his partner; the plane was full. So, I talked.

I knew he wasn’t listening. I’m pretty sure that when I talk about my war time experiences this is what he hears:

“…forced to land in enemy territory… Doolittle raids…squadron of Army bombers…Japanese mainland…barnstorming days…”

He’s probably not getting that much, but after about a half hour of trying to impart the benefit of my life’s experience to my distracted partner, I thought I’d have a little fun.

“So, there I was in Borneo, surrounded by crazed flesh eating jungle chickens, so in what could have been a futile attempt at subtraneous subfustion, I ordered my men to break out the 1859 Bordeaux I had been saving for just such an occasion. The chickens were pleased with the fine Bordeaux and we toasted each other’s good health and parted company as friends. The treaty was signed and the jungle goddess became my wife.

“You know, Hobbes, that’s about the only thing you’ve said that I even remotely believe.”

“She was a really good cook.”

Why do I bother?

“What’s eatin’ you?” I asked him.

“Huh?”

“Hey, Tower Control to Fawkes! Come in Fawkes!”

“You’re not gonna like what I have to say, so I’m shutting up.”

“Hit me.” I says

“I already did that.”

“What’s going on in your noggin, partner? You can tell me. I can listen good too, ya know.”

“It’s just that, at times like these, I wish I could go back to the way things were, before the…you know, thing happened to me.” He pointed to his hairy skull.

“You was right.” I told him. “I don’t like hearing that, but I’m glad you said it.”

“So, what you is saying is, you wouldn’t mind taking up the tools of ‘The Trade’ again, and living on the lam and all of that. I can understand that because after all, ‘Crime Pays’.”

“What? What did you say?”

I saw the dumbfounded look on his face. Perfect. I finally got his attention. Cassandra, get lost sister!

“I says, ‘Crime Pays’.

“What d’ya mean, 'Crime Pays'? You was always saying to me ‘Crime doesn’t Pay.’ And now you’re going to switch sides?”

“‘Crime Pays’, alright. Crime pays in death, pain, hurt and shame. And that’s just the down payment. There’s an installment plan and the rest is more of same. It pays dividends too. It pays the dividends in fear and if you’re lucky, you get busted and taken off the street and put away forever.

“Look kid, it’s just better to playing on this side of the law. And just in case you haven’t noticed, the guy you’re looking at right now is a Law Enforcement Official. Yeah, that’s right, and if you so much as steal a piece of Joe Bazooka bubblegum at the Five and Dime, I’ll bust your ass so fast you won’t know what hit you!”

I’ll let him chew on that Bazooka for awhile. He just stared at me. What did he expect me to say?

“Now, will you quit bugging me with your endless jawin'?” I says. “I wanna catch some zees before we hit concrete in New York.”

My turn to drift off. Besides, I wanted him to sort out what I’d said. With his mouth flapping and mine for that matter, he’d be starting to think about other stuff.

 

Slowly I Turned, Inch by Inch


Niagara Falls gushed with power with all that water just falling off those big cliffs. The place was still beautiful, just like I remembered. I felt the spray on my face, the cool breeze lifting up the tiny droplets leftover from the deluge. I couldn’t help but think about the swell time I’d spent here with Vivian when we was in love like the crazy kids we were back in the day. It was sunny now just like it was back then. I shook my head, trying to get her out of my noggin, but that never worked. I could still see her smiling at me and happy.

Our gang of seven hit the Falls. The team scoured both the Canadian and American sides of the area looking for anything out of the ordinary. We were dressed like tourists but unlike the rest of the populace, we stayed in touch with mirror signals. We knew something would pop up eventually and bite us on our collective butts. We hoped we’d be able to prevent these terrorist dopes from carrying out their plans.

Biggers ponced about with his walking cane and monocle. He was looking rather dapper in a sharp white suit as he escorted Claire around the promenade. Her calf length floral sun dress showed off her figure without showing off the goods. Very feminine. Boss man and Eberts strolled about casually as they could while wearing those silly shorts. I wished I’d had a camera that used something other than microfilm. Monroe always looks great and she set out on her own. She could operate better as a single. With her attitude toward the ‘weaker sex’ i.e. us men, she would most likely stay single.

My partner was wearing a rumpled linen jacket and a Panama hat. He would have fit in when I pulled an operation down that way. But unlike the tourists, he looked apprehensive. It was a nerve-wracking situation. He fed some of his sandwich to a professional raccoon whose racket it was to work the tourists like him. As ex-cons go, the kid’s got a heart of gold. No wonder he didn’t make it in the profession.

We was all busy with our binoculars and mirrors, looking for trouble and too soon, we found it. I spotted it first, and used my mirror to signal the Boss. He passed the unhappy news to the next poor sap in the Conga line.

I can always find trouble; more often than not, it comes looking for me. The morons were floating a boat full of putty down the American side. They’d probably set it off when they reached the best spot, right before it would go over the Falls.

“Kid,” I says, “It’s show time. Come with me.”

“Right there with ya, Hobbesy.”

I tapped him on elbow and he started walking briskly with me to the car, so we could get back to the airport.

Right before I opened the door, I saw her. She was walking toward us and reaching into her purse. Her hat had changed, but the effect was the same. It was still a big brimmed number but with a wide ribbon tied in a bow under her chin to keep from blowing off her head. Her sunglasses hid her eyes but her lips were bright red and pouting something fierce.

As she approached us she said, “Dammit, Bobby! Why did it have to be you that got in the way?”

“Vivian! What the hell are you doing?”

She was pointing a gun at us, is all.

“They told me an agent had been sent to stop our cause!”

“Who told you?” I had a pretty good idea who would rat us out.

Luckily, the kid was on the other side of the car and Vivian focused in on me. I tried to use that to our advantage and hold her attention. He Quicksilvered and came up behind her.

“I’m sorry.” she said as she was about to pull the trigger.

The kid easily got the gun out of her hand before she could do any damage. He desilvered and held her firm. Monroe had caught most of our scene and she approached us. She handcuffed my ex-wife, who began to cry. Only this time, I wasn’t so moved. My ex-angel had just tried to kill me.

“Bobby!” she started sobbing. “You can’t stop us! Please, you’ve got to let us fulfill our mission.”

“Listen, sister, it’s about time you spilled! What’s the racket? You in with these terrorists? How the hell did that happen?”

“They are fighting to make the world a better place!”

“Yeah, by taking out the Honeymoon Capital of the World? How’s that going to make the world a better place. You think the honeymooners are gonna go to Sheboygan?”

“No! You don’t understand! We’ve got to…”

It was no use. She was brainwashed and babbling like that manifesto paper. I didn’t have time to figure out what was going on with her. I left her in Monroe’s able hands, as the Official and Eberts approached.

“We’re off, Chief.” I told him.

“Good luck to you both.” he said simply.

“I think Biggers is working for them. Vivian knew about an ‘agent sent to stop’ their clam bake.”

“We’ll deal with it. You two had better get going. We don’t have much time; the men in the boat are almost ready. They’ve go the dynamite set up. Looks like they’re just waiting for a signal.”

At the airport, I grabbed one of the bi-plane tail-draggers that we’d arranged for me to fly. I hadn’t flown one of these crates since I was a barnstormer with Jimmy’s show. With these scrappy little planes, it’s seat of your pants time in a flying T-bird. They was fast and maneuverable and this flight would be fun in other circumstances.

I pulled on my bomber jacket; one of my war time buddies had painted a picture of half naked dame on the back that looked an awful lot like Vivian. We was still married when I was in the War. I had to forget about Vivian for awhile and concentrate on the mission.

I started to remember that I really hadn’t wanted this job in the first place. Then I remembered what Fawkes and me was about to do for our country and maybe for the whole world. I got myself ready. The kid pulled a flight suit over his lanky form. I helped him with the parachute.

Too bad we wouldn’t have an audience. If we pulled this off, it would be the best barnstorming I’d ever done in my life. Too bad for Fawkes this was his only barnstorming, but I didn’t let myself take too much time worrying about his scrawny ass. I couldn’t. I would have chickened out! He knew what he had to do and I had to believe that he could do it. It was a long shot but it was the only shot we had.

I lined her up on the runway and made that flying leap that always makes my blood sing. Airborne at last, we headed back to the Falls.

“It’s just like riding a bicycle”, I yelled back to Fawkes. “Ya never forget.”

“Easy as falling off a log.” he retorted.

“I don’t want to do this, Hobbes.”

“Me neither. Let’s go home.”

“You mean it?”

“Sure. It’s OK if the Honeymoon Capital of the World gets blown to smithereens; the kids can go to Scranton.”

I started to shout instructions. I wasn’t sure he was getting it.

“You know, kid, you never listen when I’m talking.” I said. “There I was in Madagascar, surrounded by fast moving ravenous tree sloths. I did the only thing one could do in such a situation…”

“Oh for god's sake, stop! I was listening.” he says.

“You was listening?”

“Yeah, I was listening. I always listen to you, Hobbes. I’m concerned about what I’m about to do.”

“Yeah, I know kid.”

He was nervous. Sure, it’s like this: it’s a perfectly good airplane and he was going to leave before it came to a full stop at the station. Look ma, no terra firma!

I could see the target below. I could make out more clearly the enormous piece of silly putty those mothers planned to explode. These bozos were not fooling around.

My first pass was for orientation. I looked back at the kid. He looked real worried. I don’t blame him. I was worried too. Fat Man’s sent us on some dangerous missions, but this one took the icing and smeared it on our faces too.

He gave me the thumbs up so I flew into position. If I got too low, or passed over too many times, the bad guys would know something was wrong and might even use the Gatling gun they had on deck. Stray bullets could hit Fawkes, even if the shooters couldn’t see him.

Fortunately, the kid was listening to me when I was going over the parachute procedure. I made sure of that. If he didn’t listen, he might mix his freezing Quicksilver with the drink and end up as an ice cube floating down the river toward the powerful Falls. That could happen in any case, but I’d like to think we did everything to prevent it.

He had to land invisible, on the deck of this little boat.

I couldn’t see him when he left the plane, but I knew he’d done a perfect jump.

There was no time for proper training. As much as I talk about how dumb the kid is, well, truth be heard, he’s really quite bright. He’s bright enough to be terrified at the prospect of what he was doing!

It gave my stomach a pang. I didn’t feel like losing him twice in one week and this time it might be for good.
 

Once More, to the Brink


I wasn’t in the thick of things for this part of the mission, so I’ve got to rely on my mutton-head partner to tell me what went on. I couldn’t see him and I wasn’t right there and he doesn’t always come clean with me. From what he says, from what I did and from what I did see, this is what happened. You mugs paying attention?

By some miracle, he landed on that postage stamp of a boat. Unfortunately, his parachute got all caught up on something and it tangled all around him. The thump from his landing got attention. A couple of the goons approached the sound. When they got within his invisible reach, Fawkes started smacking them bad guys and he convinced them to go swimming. Then he got free of the ropes.

I was flying a low pass just to distract the lunkheads. I hoped that would give Fawkes some advantage. It did. It distracted them long enough to get to the Gat and take some pot shots at me. At at at. At at at.

They scored a few lucky hits to my engine and I had to ditch the plane in a big hurry. Don’t worry. I was all in one piece, but I can’t say the same for my bi-wing. Fawkes knocked the Gatling gun overboard before they could finish me off. Slowly I turned from the wreckage. I was on the rocky shore right next to where the water fell off the big cliff. I was not too far from the boat, but I couldn’t get to it.

The punks panicked and got the catalyst and dumped it on the block of putty. Now we had ourselves the world's largest time bomb shoved up our backsides. If they could light the dynamite, we’d all be finished.

Fawkes found the real Biggers all done up on ropes and he got him free. I could see Fawkes get him out of the binding and sock the hoodlums with invisible fists.

It would have been a neat hat trick for the bad guys if Fawkes hadn’t got Biggers outta those ropes. The ex-jewel thief, now operative would go kablooey along with one of the greatest natural wonders of the world. I gotta say in all the murder cases I’ve ever handled, that would have taken the grand prize for the most unique way to dispose of a body. There’d be nothing left and no one looking. Neat.

Fawkes and Biggers were fighting a couple of the thugs. Fawkes finally desilvered. He’s gotta go easy on that stuff, ya know..

At last, the pair got rid of all the pirates save for one. It turned out it was Sullivan (I think—it could have been the fake) and he was making his self all cozy like and lighting the fuse on the dynamite. The boat drifted closer to the big drop. Inch by inch, it made its way to the edge of the Falls. I yelled out to Fawkes but he couldn’t hear me above the roar of the rushing water. I waved my arms, trying to get Fawkes to look at the lit fuse. There’s no telling how high we would blow. Maybe to the moon. Maybe further.

Fawkes and Biggers were on it. They finally saw what happened and they easily grabbed the candle-lighting Sullivan and persuaded him to calm down with their very persuasive fists. He was out for the count. It must have been the real Sullivan. He was the long shot in that big match. He had a glass jaw and he couldn’t K.O. grandmother!

The trigger had been set and it was about to go. Just in time, Fawkes grabbed the dynamite and spread the Quicksilver over it. The Quicksilver freezes stuff, so the fuse got snuffed in a second.

I breathed a sigh of relief before I realized just how close they were to taking the ride over the Falls in a poor excuse for a barrel. The putty could still go off from the pressure of the fall or the pounding of the water. I tried to see if I could maybe go over a few of the rocks and grab the boat. Inch by inch I tried to get onto the rocks and close enough to pull the boat away from danger. But it was no use; I was too far away.

So I did the only thing I could do in that situation. I grabbed a special rope shooting gun from the airplane wreckage that I used when I was rock climbing away from spies in Adis Ababar. I shot a hook out to the boat, snagged it and pulled the it to the shore. I saved the kid and Biggers from going over Niagara Falls and I kept the explosive from going off.

The Official and Monroe had bagged the fake Biggers. We uncovered the laboratory under the Wax Museum and Jarod Stark is behind bars with a bunch of his cronies. Vivian got herself to a good head shrinker and now she’s happy with her pug—the carbon copy Sullivan, not the original. I solved the Smithfield case, because I figured out there was a guy using Barney Evers face and sitting pretty in the Cha Cha Club while Barney was doing his butcher work. They was in it together. Smithfield had gone back on a stock trading scam with the Chrysalis Syndicate business dealings.

Oh, and Claire and I have since had some nice times together.

I even got myself a raise from The Fat Man after all. Even got a commendation from the President of the U-nited States of America and an audience with the Queen of England.
 

Uncle Bobby


“I don’t believe a word of it.” scoffed a wiry 12 year old boy .

Hobbes smiled, as a chorus of younger, sweeter voices contradicted the boy.

“I believe, Uncle Bobby! I believe!” chirped an urchin.

“So do I. I be-weeve, but I never seen a vis-ball man before in all my life.” said one doe-eyed 8 year old girl.

“Well no one ever has, my friend. That’s why he’s called ‘invisible’, young lady.” replied Hobbes with uncharacteristic joviality.

Fawkes sat on the cold linoleum floor in the hallway outside a colorful ward. For the last hour Darien had been listening to this wild tale with Hobbes doing “all the voices”. It was killing him to not laugh out loud.


He and Hobbes had been sharing a room in the injury suite at the hospital. Their last mission had managed to put them both in a world of hurt.

At the moment, the slow recovery was the last thing on Darien’s mind and his countenance belied his bemused state. That is, he had a bemused look on his “kisser”. Or was it “mug”? Whatever. Each new part of the story would cause him to shake his head in disbelief at this surreal situation.

He pulled his robe a little closer and sipped cooled tea from a paper cup. The image of his lanky form swathed in a patient’s garb could have garnered many more puzzled looks from the staff, if it weren’t for a few judicious uses of Quicksilver.

He finally did get seen when some of Hobbes’ stories made him forget to stay covered. He would “shhhh” the staff with a finger to his lips and poke a thumb in the direction of the ward. They would soon understand. Hobbes had become a fixture and so then did Darien with his surreptitious eavesdropping! The staff finally gave in and let him sit there, allowing him to spy on Hobbes’ and his new hobby.

“Oh your black soul, Fawkesy” he mentally chided himself. “You had assumed he’d met a cute nurse!”

It was a great revelation to find that for the last 5 days, this was where Hobbes had been slinking off to when he thought Darien was sound asleep—the Children’s Ward. Here he would sit with the kids, spinning wild yarns of daring-do. Darien wondered just what part of his partner's brain was damaged to induce such odd behavior. He didn’t care. He was loving this!

At first the idea of Hobbes and children gave Darien a fright. How long would these kids have to spend in therapy to recover from hanging out with the neurotic spy guy? He found out that Hobbes had gotten roped into the whole thing as part of a therapy exercise.


”He was practically dragged in there kicking and screaming.” one nurse told Darien “He was terrified. You should have seen the fuss!”

“Oh, I can imagine!” he replied.

“Now he’s helping the kids and they’re helping him. They hate to see him leave at night! Who knew?”

 

"Not me, for sure."
 

No Such Thing!


“There’s no such thing as invisible guys for one thing.” the doubter went on. “and you don’t look like you could pull off all those stunts! You’d have to be Jackie Chan! Or Jet Li. Or Yun-Fat Chow. And I bet even they couldn’t do it.”

“Oh oh!” Darien thought. “Time for this ‘chowderhead’ to bail out my ‘no good bum’ partner.” It would mean letting Hobbes know that he knew about the kids, but hey, it would be worth it.

Darien gathered himself, stood up and walked casually into the room. The children were sitting around Hobbes and smiling big.

 

"Hi Hobbes!" he said happily as he sauntered into the room.

“Fawkes!” Hobbes looked up with a faint, but real blush. “Shouldn’t you be in bed, partner?” he glared.

“This is the guy?” the skeptic asked with scathing reproach. “Yeah! He’s the Invisible Man. I’m so sure! He’s just a big wimp!”

The boy’s snipping was drowned out by the questions of other kids.

“Is it hard to become in-vish-a-ball?”

“No. It’s easy for me.”

“Do you still steal things?”

“Yeah, but I give them back.”

“Were you scared when you jumped out of the plane?”

“At first, but then it was fun. We’re going to do it again when we get better, aren’t we, Ba Ha Bomber?”

Hobbes smirked and shook his head. He was still uncertain of how to take Fawkes discovering his secret retreat and his clandestine activity.

“Where’s the cut in your neck? Can I see it?”

“Here.”
 

"Ew!"


He revealed the bandage to one from a tracheotomy that the real “Dr” Claire did have to perform. No doubt, that incident was an inspiration for Bobby “Tall Tales” Hobbes.


But, the boy was loud and insistent. He stepped toward Darien and held a fighter’s position he had learned in Tae Kwan Do classes at the Y.

 

"Let's see how tough you are. I'm a Green Belt! Looks like you're a terry cloth belt!" he snarled.

Darien pulled a well worn Fedora from the dress up activity bin and tamped it onto his spiky bed hair.

“OK, squirt, give me your best shot!” Fawkes challenged affably.

As the boy lunged, Darien Quicksilvered and stepped aside. The boy was shocked as he slammed himself unceremoniously into the wall.

“It’s a trick.” he protested.

“Yeah, it’s a trick.” said a disembodied voice. “But, it’s a good trick.”

Darien placed the invisible hat on the shocked boy’s head. It desilvered into his hair making his eyes go even wider than they already were as he pulled the now visible chapeau from its perch.

“Well, I guess it’s time to go kids.” Hobbes told them.

“Don’t go! Don’t go!” they all begged.

“I’ll be back tomorrow. You’ve got to get some sleep.”


Fawkes reappeared to "ooos" and "ahs". The once cynical boy was gaping at him, now a true believer. He even shook Darien's hand and gave a Korean bow.


“The Fat Man needs you, Uncle Bobby?” one big-eyed curly-headed moppet asked as she put her head on his arm.

“Yep! The Fat Man needs me.” Hobbes said as his heart melted.

 

fin


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