Chapter 6
The Black Ship
"Nice address our friendly gang of goons landed on," noted Ham. "You suppose anyone on this street DOESN'T have at least one conviction?"
"Not everywhere in town is as glamorous as your Park Avenue digs," Monk said and jogged his elbow into Ham's ribs. The chemist peered around the alley corner and down the street. The actual address provided by the cab company was half a block away. The two associates had passed the location and parked here - both they and their car would have been far too conspicuous parked in front of the Black Ship.
For years the place had been notorious among certain circles as a hangout for underworld types. Some of the worst gangland elements gathered there - some in search of connections to ways of making money, others looking for crew members to help carry out a job, and still others simply hanging out between capers.
"You're too respectable looking to get close to the place," Monk said. "I'll have to check it out."
"If any of those guys who jumped us are still there, they'll definitely recognize your mug," Ham scoffed. "You're not exactly Mr. Incognito - especially in that distinctive style of apparel you inflict on the world."
"No problem." Monk waved away any difficulties. From the back seat of the car he pulled the suitcase that he'd brought from Doc's headquarters. Inside the case were some dark-colored clothes in a shabby state of repair, including a wide-brimmed hat, a pair of shoes and a small makeup kit. "When I found out where the cabs dropped off the gang, I pulled together a little bag of tricks from Doc's stock of goodies."
In a few minutes Monk showed off his handiwork. Darkness was increasing, so Ham removed a flashlight from the car's glove box. He twisted the end to power the bulb and flicked a switch to throw light on Monk.
"You look disreputable, but that's no change," Ham smirked. "You may look different enough to pull it off if the only time they saw you was in Doc's office."
Monk's arms were a little long for the sleeves of the coat, but he pulled the hat brim down low over his eyes to disguise his features as much as possible. He had also donned a fake mustache. "This crumb catcher tickles," he complained.
"It'll hide your face long enough to check out the place," Ham encouraged. "Maybe it'll be dark inside. That way no one will report you as an escapee from the Central Park Zoo."
The chemist snorted. "And to think you could have had an honest career on the radio with Charley McCarthy."
Monk left the lawyer with the car and slunk along the street to another narrow alleyway, which marked the entrance to the Black Ship. He entered the dive and glanced around. The lighting was nearly as dim as out on the street, but Monk thought he saw two familiar faces sitting at a small table near the door. The disguised chemist bought a drink at the bar and took a seat at a table close to the two men he recognized. He sat with his back to the duo to forestall their possibly recognizing him.
Monk tried to eavesdrop. One of the two thugs sounded like his craw was full of gravel. "Has anyone heard from the Blind Man?"
"Naw," his companion answered. "But Barlowe hinted some of the boys may be moving out soon."
"Action somewhere else?"
The other grunted.
"Sometimes the Blind Man gets in an all-fired hurry," said the fellow with the very rough voice, "then we sit around and wait for his signal."
"I think he's waiting on something," the other said. "Or maybe someone else."
"Y'think he's scared?"
"Of what?"
"I dunno," Gravel Voice said. "Maybe this Savage character."
Monk perked up his ears a bit more.
"You trust that dame?"
Gravel Voice growled. "Huh. The Blind Man says she's on the level. And he don't trust nobody too much."
Monk's hackles rose. Were the two talking about Black Cat Jackson? And who was this Blind Man?
"It was her idea to check on Savage, see if he was sniffin' around," Gravel Voice added.
Monk decided that Cat Jackson must be the person they were discussing. And from the sounds of their talk, the gang must be in cahoots with her. Which meant, unfortunately, that Ham was probably correct concerning her intentions.
About that time the two thugs were joined by a third man who had just entered the Black Ship. "Let's go, you guys," said the latest arrival. "We gotta run-dezz-view."
The three scraped their chairs across the rough floor and clattered out the door. A few moments later Monk followed the crew out into the alley. He paused at the point where the alley met the dark street. He watched the three men climb into a sedan, the same one that had appeared on Long Tom's film.
Monk leaned against the wall. His fist moved from his jacket pocket and twitched against the rough bricks behind him. He returned his hand to his pocket as the car barreled away down the street.
Monk ran to meet Ham at the car. The chemist jumped in and directed Ham to follow the thugs' sedan. While the lawyer drove, Monk described what he had overheard.
"The Blind Man, Black Cat Jackson, McCarthy, Curly Wolfe, this gang of no-goods . . . How do they all fit together?" Ham wondered aloud. "And do they really all have something to do with that Boston tanker blowing up?"
Ham stayed well back from the car he was tailing. He slowed considerably as the sedan pulled over and its passengers spilled out and filed into a small house set back from the street. Ham and Monk passed the parked vehicle and parked just around the corner at the end of the block. Ham reached into the glove box and pulled out the flashlight again.
This residential neighborhood had seen better days. A number of houses lined the street, and most appeared inhabited, but many required quite a bit of repair.
"A lot of soldier boys are gonna have a lot of nailing and painting to do when they get home," Monk noted.
He and Ham stayed close to the shadows as they crept toward the house their quarry had entered. At the corner of the lot, Monk paused while Ham chanced a quick look inside the parked sedan. He returned to the chemist's side. "No clues there," the lawyer whispered.
The duo carefully made their way along a hedge in need of pruning to reach the side of the house. They stopped on each side of a window through which light shone. Ham slowly peered over the windowsill.
A lamp and the table on which it stood obscured part of the lawyer's view into the house. Still, he could clearly see that the room held no upholstered furniture. Instead, it offered a rough table, a scattering of worn wooden chairs and a scratched and marred wardrobe. A calendar decorated with a farm scene hung crookedly on the wall behind the table.
Ham nodded to Monk, who also turned to peer into the room. There was no sign of Black Cat Jackson, but three men sat in chairs and a fourth stood by the table.
"The three guys sittin' down were in the Black Ship," came Monk's squeaky whisper. "I think the other one was part of the crew that showed up at Doc's place."
"Can you make out what they're saying?"
Both listened for a few moments.
"I heard one of 'em say Black Cat's name," the chemist responded. "But the rest of it - I'm not sure about."
"I think another one said something about the Blind Man," Ham said.
A fifth man appeared in the room's doorway. He said something too low for the two associates to hear, and the man Monk recognized as Gravel Voice stood and followed the newcomer from the room.
"Where do you reckon the rest of that gang is?" Monk wondered.
"Maybe with Black Cat," Ham offered, "and maybe she's with the Blind Man."
"Those guys in the Black Ship said something about some guys heading out to action somewhere else," Monk said.
Ham started to step away from the window. "I'll check the other side of the house," he whispered. But he didn't have a chance to move that way.
For the night suddenly came to life. Monk shouted as someone dropped a bag over his head and he was pulled back over some obstacle that tripped him to the ground. The same happened to Ham. Pinned to the ground, both men fought back as they were pummeled by unseen fists. Already worn by the abuse their bodies had experienced during the day, Ham and Monk's efforts didn't last long. Their struggles ceased as they were overpowered and bound hand and foot.
"You guys ain't so smart," Gravel Voice said. "You didn't see our lookouts as you slipped in."
The chemist and the lawyer were roughly dragged across the ground and into the house, then tossed down some steps to the basement. Monk's head spun crazily, but he heard one last thing before the door slammed shut at the top of the stairs: "Do we kill 'em now or later?"
*
Bright sunlight flashed on the dancing waves of the Atlantic as a Curtiss Helldiver roared through the air on its way from the base at Norfolk. Following fashion the crew had decorated the plane. To the fuselage had been painted a snarling red dog. The craft's Navy pilot, Captain Mann, "Red Dog" to his friends, had taken off early this morning at the order of Admiral Ryan to deliver his passenger to New York City.
His passenger, Doc Savage, had complimented the pilot on his handling of the dive bomber. Captain Mann took the compliment to heart - he'd heard stories about how his passenger had helped to develop some aircraft used by the military.
The two men had chatted off and on during the flight, but most of the trip was made in relative silence enforced by the roar of the 10,000-plus horsepower of the Helldiver's air-cooled engine.
Renny had complained about being left out of the action, but he recognized his obligation to finish up his work for the Navy. The big engineer had seen Doc off this morning and wished the bronze man luck.
The flight had been uneventful. Doc had used the time to mentally tote up what he knew about the affair so far. The sum was disappointing.
Captain Mann broke into his thoughts with an exclamation: "There's a dandy sight!" He pointed to the ocean below. "Our boys are coming home!"
Doc turned to see a small convoy and its gunship escort: Cruising the sun-speckled ocean were three troopships loaded with soldiers on their way home from the war in Europe. They were still a few hours from New York Harbor, but the troops were close enough to feel the excitement of getting to walk on home soil again.
"There'll be some happy people in the streets of the city tonight!" laughed Captain Mann. Doc agreed, and a small smile touched the bronze man's lips.
Captain Mann directed the Helldiver downward toward the ships to wave its wings in greeting to the returning troops. As he pulled the plane up from its shallow dive, Captain Mann pulled Doc's attention away from the ships.
"Hey, lookit that," Mann said. "The sun - all of a sudden, it's red."
Doc twisted around to look. Indeed, the orb of the sun, which mere minutes ago had been glaringly white, was now a scarlet disk. A trilling sounded through the Helldiver's cabin.
"What the hell's that?" Mann jerked around, checking his instruments and the seals on the plane's canopy. But the trilling was merely a sound uttered by Doc Savage, usually unconsciously, when something unusual popped up. The weird trill seemed to emanate around the man of bronze and trailed off, like some will o' the wisp borne by the air.
"The soldier boys are waving back. Wait a minute - they're not waving. Holy Moley!" shouted the pilot. "The ships - what's happening?"
Doc quickly turned away from the sun. The men on the decks of the ships just below the plane were clearly in the midst of some uproar.
He reached in a pouch tucked below his seat and whipped out binoculars. Training the lenses on the carriers below, the disturbance came clear - the ships were melting!
Written By:
Duane Spurlock
based on notes by:
Kenneth Robeson
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