(© Copyright 2015 Charles F. Millhouse All Right Reserved)
Find the first two Captain Hawklin Adventures here & here
Chapter One
Raiders from Suversia
December 3, 1932,
Crown City
Oz
Lyman carried a stack of presents out of Drake’s department store on
Seventy-Seventh Street and Yale Avenue. The stack of wrapped gifts swayed back
and forth while he struggled to keep them from falling to the wet sidewalk. It
had been raining most of the day. Not just any rain, but the cold chilly rain
that the west coast got three weeks before Christmas.
Oz
rushed along. A light drizzle wet the packages. Water dripped off the brim of
his green ball cap, onto his bulldog face. The hem of his tan trousers soaked
from the puddles he slapped through. He dodged other pedestrians, zigging one way, then the next, trying to be polite, but
forcing himself forward.
The
packages blocked his view and he bumped into more people than he avoided.
“Excuse me – pardon me – I’m so sorry,” Oz said. He parked his Austin roadster
four blocks down from the store. He wished he could have found a closer spot,
but stores were busy with holiday shoppers, as he hurried up the street before
the rain came down harder.
“Watch
it pal,” someone said.
“Well,
I never,” a woman fussed.
“The
nerve of some people… and at Christmas, too,” another woman complained.
When
Oz bumped into yet another person on the sidewalk, he heard, “Here now… What is
this?”
Oz
grinned. He recognized the man’s deep Irish accent and said, “Hello Dutch!”
Dutch
Burns, a tall, square shouldered police officer gave out a loud hefty laugh
when he saw Oz looking around the stack of gifts. Well-groomed, a poster candidate
for policeman of the year, Dutch's uniform was pristine, from the long black
jacket that hung to his knees, right down to his black shoes that held so much
polish the rain beaded on them. “Oscar Lyman – you devil. I should have known.
Let me help you with some of those.”
Oz
felt a weight lift when Dutch took two of the packages off the top. “I’m parked
just up the street.”
“Buying presents for the kids in the hospital again this year huh?”
Dutch asked; he stood half a foot taller than Oz.
“You
know it. I don’t have family of my own… not anymore. So I try to make the kids
happy – help out, you know. So the parents won’t have a burden.”
“You’re
a good man to be doing such a thing. But I have’ta remind you that you do have
a family. What about Hardy and Captain Hawklin?”
“Not
so loud. I don’t like people to know who I work for,” Oz whispered and looked
around to see if anyone heard Dutch’s comments.
Dutch
narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
Oz
shrugged his shoulders. “I want people to like me for me, not because I work
for… you know.”
Dutch’s
sea-green eyes glistened. “Aye… I do. I won’t let it slip again.”
At
a red and white A-roadster, Oz tossed the packages into the backseat as the
rain poured down harder. “Just it time,” he said pulling his green ball cap
down tight over his brown hair.
“You
have time to get a cup of Joe?” Dutch asked, pulling the collar up on his dark
black uniform. Several car horns blew up the street, he paid them no mind.
Traffic jams on a late Saturday afternoon was common in Crown City.
Oz
wiped the water off his face and buttoned up the front of his blue pea coat.
“Boss and Hardy are at Mayor Lasko’s party tonight. I have time. There’s an
automat around the corner. I’ll pay for the pie.”
“And
a scoop of ice cream,” Dutch said with a grin.
“And
a scoop of ice cream… chocolate,” Oz laughed and slapped Dutch on the back.
“Wait
Oz, did you hear…” A shout came from up the street.
Oz
looked at Dutch – a scream followed.
“Stay
here,” Dutch said as he took off down the crowded street.
Oz
ignored him and chased after Dutch.
Dutch
blew his whistle and cleared a path through the crowded street.
A
young woman, in a red dress and a Betty Grable hair style, dark and slick as
oil, knelt on the wet sidewalk next to an unconscious man. She wore thick dark
sunglasses that masked her eyes. Oz gave her an odd look when he knelt down
next to her. He wondered how she saw anything on such a clouded afternoon.
She
held her black handbag over the man, blocking the rain from his face. It was
coming down in buckets.
Oz
stared intently at her while reaching down to check for the man’s pulse. “Alive
– barely.” he said.
Dutch
knelt down next to the woman. “Is this your husband?”
The
woman shook her head no.
"What
happened?"
The
woman’s lower lip trembled. “There were four of them – four large men… I
think.”
“You
think?” Oz asked.
The
woman grimaced. “Their faces were covered with some… some kind of mask. They
grabbed this man. One… one of them spoke. His voice didn’t sound like anything
I’ve heard before. They didn’t speak English.”
“Not
in English?” Oz asked. He caught a lilt of a foreign dialect in the woman’s
voice. Several bystanders
corroborated, her story.
corroborated, her story.
“They
attacked this man,” the young woman said. Her hair drenched from the down
pouring rain. “One… one of them threw this man to the sidewalk screamed at him
and shot him –” her voice trailed off – a hint of mistruth quivered from her
lips.
Dutch
checked the man’s body. “There aren’t any bullet wounds on him.”
“They
shot him,” some man in the crowd said assuredly.
The
squall of an ambulance siren roared down the street and Dutch stood up and
waved them to a stop. “Over here!”
Oz
checked up and down the street. Suspiciously he asked, “Which way did they go?”
The
woman in red pointed up an alley. “They looked like they were in a hurry.”
“What
makes you say that?” Dutch asked.
“It’s
just the way they acted. Very agitated and dangerous,” the woman said and
added, “You shouldn’t go after them.”
“You
let me worry about that,” Dutch said and stood.
“Call
for backup,” Oz said. He saw a police call phone on a telephone pole.
“They’ll
never get here in time… I need to get after these men now or they’ll get away.”
Oz
tried to stop Dutch. He even reached out for him, but his fingers grabbed air.
While Dutch ran up the alley, Oz searched the man’s pockets.
“What
are you doing?" the woman asked and reached for Oz’s hand.
Oz
tipped back his hat and looked at the woman, curious. She held his arm in a
tight grip. “I’m looking for identification papers to see who he is. Why – is
there a reason you don’t want me to look?”
“I
think that’s something best left to the police.”
Oz
pulled the man’s wallet from inside of his jacket just as the ambulance drivers
carried over a stretcher. The woman lunged for the billfold. Oz snatched it
back and stood away from the ambulance drivers. Again the woman leapt for the
wallet, but grabbed Oz’s wrist.
“I
think you should give it to me,” She hissed.
Oz
jerked his arm out of her grip and shoved her back. “Steady now –”
Belligerently
the woman stumbled forward and attacked Oz. Protecting himself he swung at her,
knocking the sunglasses off her face.
“I’ll
be bent,” Oz said and stood back when he saw the woman’s white albino eyes
staring back at him. She hissed again, and moved to attack Oz. Suddenly she
stopped, a surprising twinkle came to her eyes, and she folded to the rain
soaked sidewalk like a doll. Dutch stood over her with his Billy club fisted in
his hand.
“I
thought she was acting a little strange,” Dutch said tipping back his hat with
the end of his club.
Oz
paced back and forth in the police precinct while he waited for Dutch to come
and get him. Debating if he should call Captain Hawklin
he waited, at least until he had more to go on. The woman could be nothing more
than a pickpocket that messed up. Oz didn’t believe her fantastic story about
masked men – even if the crowd corroborated what she said. He’d seen confidence
men before… He scratched his forehead. Dames, he thought.
“Hey
Mack, you want some coffee?” the gray-haired thin precinct officer asked from
behind his desk.
Oz
shook his head no and sat down. The lights in the building were dim and he
looked up at the dirt and grime build up on the light covers. He tapped his
feet on the sticky floor and leaned back in the chair, it creaked. He looked at
the clock – quarter past eight – he checked his wrist watch to make sure it was
the correct time, he sighed.
“Hey
Oscar,” Dutch called from a door and motioned for him to come over.
“Can
I go back?” Oz asked.
“Had
to tell the captain you worked for you know who. Otherwise he wouldn't
let you back to the interrogation room.”
Oz
shook his head… “Thanks, thanks Dutch,” he said following Dutch to the other
end of a long hall where he found the woman in red sitting alone at a table.
“She
just sits there,” Dutch said.
“She’s
not said anything?”
“Nothing…
she’s not even asked to see a lawyer.”
“What
about the man she was with – did she injure him?”
“Killed,
the hospital called a little while ago and said he didn’t make it. Right now
she’s our one and only suspect.”
“Can
I talk to her?”
“Are
you kidding Oz? I’m just a beat cop. The suits will handle this from here on
out. This is much as I can help you. But – if you want to talk to her, maybe
your Boss can help.”
Oz
still wasn’t sure he should get Steven Hawklin involved. He looked at his wrist
watch again. Only a couple minutes passed since the last time he checked.
Besides the woman’s albino eyes, there wasn’t anything special about what
happened, other than Oz’s curiosity. “Can you at least tell me about the
victim?”
“His
name was Fredrick Naples.”
“Naples,
Naples, I’ve never heard of him.”
“He
worked for the Mayor’s office. Was a speech writer or something like that.”
“Worked
for the mayor… uh… that could be something… don’t you think?”
“Oz.
I can’t get involved in a murder investigation. And neither can you. I’m
putting my job on the line just by working it out for you to be back here.
Let’s go get that cup of Joe and pie and forget all about this. I’m not even on
the clock.”
Oz
gave in with a nod. “I don’t know much about murders or investigating them.
Coffee does sound good.”
When
the outer wall of the building exploded Oz and Dutch dropped to the floor. The
two-way mirror shattered. Shards of glass rained down on them. Smoke filled the
station. Oz rose up to his knees and looked up into the interrogation room. The
smoke burned his lungs. He coughed – his eyes stung with tears. Through the
smoke and ash he saw four masked men storm into the room. They carried some
kind of weapons – rifles by the look of them.
The
attackers freed the woman in red and led her out of the building before any of
the officers in the precinct could react.
Oz
shot to his feet but Dutch grabbed hold of him.
“Are
you nuts?” Dutch asked.
“I
told you I didn’t know anything about solving a murder, Dutch. But this… this I
know!” Oz bolted up the hall chasing the fleeing men, but they had a good head
start on him. He stopped at the gaping hole in the side of the building, pulled
off his ball cap and slapped his leg with it, still hacking on the smoke in his
lungs. They’d gotten away. The small but effective commando unit caused enough
confusion to get in and out before a single police officer could stop them.
They were well-trained, well-armed and relentless. Now Oz knew. He had
to contact Captain Hawklin because this was out of everyone’s hands, maybe even
his. Then he realized something he’d overlooked until this moment. The victim
worked for the mayor. There had to be a connection. Oz ran to find a phone.