Post by redsycorax on Nov 10, 2021 2:42:51 GMT
Before their world exploded in their faces on October 28, 1962, the Justice Guild were quite an active group of crimefighters and made the acquaintance of many others in their rich and eventful lives. Such as a couple of British "Revengers", James Reed and Anna Keel.
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JANUARY 1962: LONDON:
As John Bellamy reached the apex of his staircase, he smiled at the sound of his radiophone in the apartment. Finally, after a wearying day in the City of London, he could relax with a martini, watch some television and read one of his Ian Fleming novels before turning in for bed. Half an hour later, he was luxuriating in his shower when the fabric of its curtain was ripped asunder and he saw the cause. As a sinister shadow overwhelmed him, Bellamy yelled: "No! You're not real! You don't exist!" But instants later, the figure wielded cruel claws attached to black gloves and in a mask's obsidian eyes, a traumatised man lay, on the floor of his shower, with an expression of utter terror...
As photographers swarmed around the body, two familiar British private investigators (or were they secret agents? It was difficult to tell) stood over the corpse. Surreptitiously, James Reed slipped a ten pound note to his photojournalist contact at the Guardian, Colin, and turned to his 'gifted amateur" colleague, Mrs Anna Keel, black (leather catsuited) widow and companion in adventure:
"Very Mr. Hitchcock."
"Except... well, look at those slash marks, Reed. They're too deep to be made with knives- even steak knives. In fact, they resemble a cat. Or wolf. Or large bird of prey."
"Yes, I'd noticed that too. Except this is the third in the last fortnight."
"Third? Wait a minute, counting the Dare case on New Years Day, I only register two."
"There is a third. An identical modus operandi in New York, executed against an advertising executive, one Lawrence Tate."
"Ah yes- I'd forgotten about your friends in the costumed adventurer category across the Atlantic."
"Well, I received a telephone call from one of them, Edward. He heard about our parallel incidents over here and volunteered his assistance. Oddly enough, he also has a combat proficient female companion. Also a new friend, a young Greek woman named Cassandra."
"Reed? Does Bellamy strike you as the sort of person who read comic books?"
"Good point, Anna. Is that what I think it is? 'Winged Victory?' I thought titles like that were an endangered species."
"Wait a minute, Reed. The late John Bellamy was a publishing executive and you said Lawrence Tate was an advertising executive. Of course, this may be serendipity, but..."
"Mrs Keel, I think our services may be needed." With that, the elegantly coutured James Reed and Mrs Keel turned from the scene of carnage, intent on resolving the enigma that now confronted them.
OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN:
In his Catplane, Catman, Black Siren and Cassandra looked down into the forbidding, churning Atlantic:
"What is going on over there, Ted? Why not tell us?"
Catman sighed: "Remember I said that I was investigating the Tate murder in New York a few weeks ago? Identical circumstances arose in London, with some very disturbing parallels."
Black Siren nodded: "Another slasher death? Cass? Can you help us out here?"
"Since you asked for my assistance on that front, I've been trying to focus on who the next target of this slasher might be. I got an image of a comic book. Featuring a character called "Winged Victory."
Catman raised a masked eyebrow: "Yeah, I remember him from when I was younger. Although it became a lot darker. From what I heard from my stockbroker, I heard the company that published his adventures was in trouble. Apparently, Doctor Wertheim is about to claim another victim. Even if Winged Victory's adventures were...uh... somewhat unreconstructed compared to our crime fighting ethics."
Black Siren looked over the file that the FBI had forwarded them:
"Well, if it was, we shouldn't be looking for such unpleasantness with the series creator, Rick Angelus. Apparently, he was a fine, upstanding London Metropolitan police officer before he resigned and acquired some little reputation as the creator, author and artist for his Winged Victory series. And in any case, he's in a wheelchair."
"Cassandra?"
The precognitive had suddenly turned pale: "I think we need to get a move on, Ted, Donna. I just foresaw another murder. Four hours from now."
HEATHROW AIRPORT:
Reed and Mrs Keel were waiting for their American counterparts as they cleared customs, expedited by Reed's connections with the Security Intelligence Service and MI5:
"James. Good to see you again, old friend."
"Ted. This is my new companion, Mrs Anna Keel. A very merry widow."
Black Siren shook hands: "You don't see many women in our line of work. I like the outfit."
"Fashionable, flexible and practical. Now, I take it your friend there is Cassandra Astriides?"
Cassandra nodded: "I foresaw another murder. And this time, I got a clearer image of the assailant. He-or she- was wearing a clawed glove."
"Snap." Anna Keel held up a copy of the latest Winged Victory.
"Yes, we were discussing that as we flew over here. I wonder, is it some psychopath using the Winged Victory modus operandi to kill specific targets?"
"We don't have time to waste. Where does Rick Angelus live?"
Reed and Mrs Keel exchanged glances: "Knightbridge, why?"
"I think he may be the next target of this murderer. I saw a man in a wheelchair, under attack from that creature."
"But if he's mentally ill..." Black Siren asked.
"The term 'psychopath' was coined in 1936 to describe an uninhibited but methodical and analytical killer. They have a twisted personality but intellectually, they're brilliant." Mrs Keel explained.
"How do we get to Knightsbridge?" Cassandra interjected.
KNIGHTSBRIDGE:
With a standing kick, Mrs Keel demolished the door as the five of them moved in. Cassandra turned to the others:
"He has a grappling hook. Fired from a pressure gun. We need some sort of shield."
Catman nodded in response: "Any accomplices, Cassandra?"
"No. I think he's taking advantage of the cover of darkness."
"Bashing in the front door is hardly inconspicuous" Mrs Keel observed.
Abruptly, a wheelchaired figure hurriedly moved his apparatus across the upper floor as they caught sight of his assailant for the first time. Catman fired his own grappling gun at the upper stairs as "Winged Victory" turned his claws to face the new intruder. At the same time, the two Revengers, Cassandra and Black Siren ran up the stairs and found Rick Angelus waiting for them:
"Are you all right, Mr Angelus?"
"That thing...it...it's taken inspiration from my Winged Victory series, but... it...wants to kill me."
"He certainly seems athletic, Mr Angelus. Any idea why?" Anna Keel asked.
"I...was going to retire at the end of this month. Kill off the character."
Black Siren ran forward: "I need to do something about this. Whoever he is, he's trained at this. Anna, Mr Reed?"
The two Revengers joined in, as Winged Victory and Catman fought outside Angelus' bathroom:
"Who the hell are you, mister?"
"None of your attention, sunshine." Winged Victory replied, as Angelus gasped:
"What is it?" Cassandra asked.
"It can't be. Winged Victory is a working class lad. And that's a Cockney accent."
Mrs Keel had joined the fray and slowly but surely, the tide turned from stalemate to prospective victory.
However, sensing defeat imminent, Winged Victory turned and fired his grappling gun hook directly at Angelus. Cassandra brought up a small marble statue from the adjacent table and deflected it.
"No, you don't," said James Reed, with a stiff uppercut to the face. At last, Winged Victory had been quenched. As he lay supine on the floor, Rick Angelus and Cassandra came over while Black Siren pulled off the mask:
"Mr Angelus? It's...it's you...!"
Winged Victory gasped: "In a real sense...I... am... him. I...am from a parallel world where Winged Victory...myself, Bert Wheeler, actually does exist. However, read it closely and you'll see our history diverges from yours in one crucial manner. Namely, Nazi Germany had reserves of poison gas and so, when the Allies launched D-Day, the V missiles were fired. England became a ghost land, leaving me to deal with all of that carnage. You, Angelus. You made me like this. I had a happy life, a wife, a baby daughter. But because of your parakinetic influence on my world's destiny, I was doomed to widowerhood, squalor and a hard-boiled life. Well, it ends here." Winged Victory bit down on what was a cyanide capsule secreted in his jaw before anyone could stop him.
Lifeless, he closed his eyes as the poison took effect.
EPILOGUE: LONDON: NAPOLI:
Before they returned to Seaboard City, Reed and Mrs Keel had promised the three Justice Guilders a night out on the town- which meant a dance night at one of London's swinging jazz clubs. As Catman and Black Siren (now dressed in their civilian identities as Ted Blake and Donna Vance) danced the night away, Cassandra was more pensive as she nursed a vodka in the corner. Mrs Keel joined her at the table: "What is it? I know it's sad, but at least it ended happily, except for poor wretched Albert Wheeler at the end. Just think though, Cassandra, a parallel world. But such a dark place."
"Yes. Yes. I suppose it is."
"After all that, I decided I needed a good stiff martini. Shaken but not stirred, as the saying goes. Seriously, though, Cassandra. At least our world's not like that. It was good to see that Negro gentleman compliment your President Kennedy over the advances in civil rights back in your country. I wish a British politician had his courage and bravery. All that news about Cuba, though..."
Cassandra managed a smile: "I'm sorry, Anna. I think the jetlag's catching up with me."
Because how could you tell a woman that she only had nine more months to live and that at the end of that time, a blinding fireball would spread above London and in a fraction of a second, the lives of her new friends would be snuffed out like a candle? Although Cassandra knew that Reed and Mrs Keel wouldn't feel any pain, she impulsively hugged Anna Keel, knowing this was the last time she would see her alive, given her own imminent death. Bewildered, Mrs Keel returned the embrace, concluding that this was due to Cassandra's relative inexperience, and as she had said, travel fatigue.
Two months later, in March 1962, Anna Keel and James Reed stood sadly over a Seaboard City grave as Cassandra Astriides' coffin was lowered into it. As they walked away, Anna Keel felt a sudden chill while Reed read the latest Seaboard City Times-Picayune. The news was full of ominous undertones; despite the welcome news of the ceasefire between France and the Algerian National Liberation Front, the spyplane downing in Russian territory and the captive U2 pilot overshadowed it, as well as the mounting conflict between the Soviet Union and United States over the newly minted Castro communist regime in Cuba. Still, there was nothing she could do to avert that. Better to concentrate on the latest case that Reed probably had waiting for them back in London...
On October 28, 1962, James Reed and Anna Keel were busy pursuing a malignant scientist who was abusing the government's central computer with a view to providing information to a foreign power. However, in the process, air raid sirens went off. As Anna Reed threw back her hair and took careful aim with her Lugar, both Revengers and their quarry were removed from existence in a white glare of prodigal heat and blinding light as a Soviet ICBM detonated three hundred feet above Nelson's Column in Picadilly. As the mushroom cloud curled upward, though, in distant Seaboard City, the Justice Guild could spare no time to mourn. And then, their own time ran out.
THE END
++
JANUARY 1962: LONDON:
As John Bellamy reached the apex of his staircase, he smiled at the sound of his radiophone in the apartment. Finally, after a wearying day in the City of London, he could relax with a martini, watch some television and read one of his Ian Fleming novels before turning in for bed. Half an hour later, he was luxuriating in his shower when the fabric of its curtain was ripped asunder and he saw the cause. As a sinister shadow overwhelmed him, Bellamy yelled: "No! You're not real! You don't exist!" But instants later, the figure wielded cruel claws attached to black gloves and in a mask's obsidian eyes, a traumatised man lay, on the floor of his shower, with an expression of utter terror...
As photographers swarmed around the body, two familiar British private investigators (or were they secret agents? It was difficult to tell) stood over the corpse. Surreptitiously, James Reed slipped a ten pound note to his photojournalist contact at the Guardian, Colin, and turned to his 'gifted amateur" colleague, Mrs Anna Keel, black (leather catsuited) widow and companion in adventure:
"Very Mr. Hitchcock."
"Except... well, look at those slash marks, Reed. They're too deep to be made with knives- even steak knives. In fact, they resemble a cat. Or wolf. Or large bird of prey."
"Yes, I'd noticed that too. Except this is the third in the last fortnight."
"Third? Wait a minute, counting the Dare case on New Years Day, I only register two."
"There is a third. An identical modus operandi in New York, executed against an advertising executive, one Lawrence Tate."
"Ah yes- I'd forgotten about your friends in the costumed adventurer category across the Atlantic."
"Well, I received a telephone call from one of them, Edward. He heard about our parallel incidents over here and volunteered his assistance. Oddly enough, he also has a combat proficient female companion. Also a new friend, a young Greek woman named Cassandra."
"Reed? Does Bellamy strike you as the sort of person who read comic books?"
"Good point, Anna. Is that what I think it is? 'Winged Victory?' I thought titles like that were an endangered species."
"Wait a minute, Reed. The late John Bellamy was a publishing executive and you said Lawrence Tate was an advertising executive. Of course, this may be serendipity, but..."
"Mrs Keel, I think our services may be needed." With that, the elegantly coutured James Reed and Mrs Keel turned from the scene of carnage, intent on resolving the enigma that now confronted them.
OVER THE ATLANTIC OCEAN:
In his Catplane, Catman, Black Siren and Cassandra looked down into the forbidding, churning Atlantic:
"What is going on over there, Ted? Why not tell us?"
Catman sighed: "Remember I said that I was investigating the Tate murder in New York a few weeks ago? Identical circumstances arose in London, with some very disturbing parallels."
Black Siren nodded: "Another slasher death? Cass? Can you help us out here?"
"Since you asked for my assistance on that front, I've been trying to focus on who the next target of this slasher might be. I got an image of a comic book. Featuring a character called "Winged Victory."
Catman raised a masked eyebrow: "Yeah, I remember him from when I was younger. Although it became a lot darker. From what I heard from my stockbroker, I heard the company that published his adventures was in trouble. Apparently, Doctor Wertheim is about to claim another victim. Even if Winged Victory's adventures were...uh... somewhat unreconstructed compared to our crime fighting ethics."
Black Siren looked over the file that the FBI had forwarded them:
"Well, if it was, we shouldn't be looking for such unpleasantness with the series creator, Rick Angelus. Apparently, he was a fine, upstanding London Metropolitan police officer before he resigned and acquired some little reputation as the creator, author and artist for his Winged Victory series. And in any case, he's in a wheelchair."
"Cassandra?"
The precognitive had suddenly turned pale: "I think we need to get a move on, Ted, Donna. I just foresaw another murder. Four hours from now."
HEATHROW AIRPORT:
Reed and Mrs Keel were waiting for their American counterparts as they cleared customs, expedited by Reed's connections with the Security Intelligence Service and MI5:
"James. Good to see you again, old friend."
"Ted. This is my new companion, Mrs Anna Keel. A very merry widow."
Black Siren shook hands: "You don't see many women in our line of work. I like the outfit."
"Fashionable, flexible and practical. Now, I take it your friend there is Cassandra Astriides?"
Cassandra nodded: "I foresaw another murder. And this time, I got a clearer image of the assailant. He-or she- was wearing a clawed glove."
"Snap." Anna Keel held up a copy of the latest Winged Victory.
"Yes, we were discussing that as we flew over here. I wonder, is it some psychopath using the Winged Victory modus operandi to kill specific targets?"
"We don't have time to waste. Where does Rick Angelus live?"
Reed and Mrs Keel exchanged glances: "Knightbridge, why?"
"I think he may be the next target of this murderer. I saw a man in a wheelchair, under attack from that creature."
"But if he's mentally ill..." Black Siren asked.
"The term 'psychopath' was coined in 1936 to describe an uninhibited but methodical and analytical killer. They have a twisted personality but intellectually, they're brilliant." Mrs Keel explained.
"How do we get to Knightsbridge?" Cassandra interjected.
KNIGHTSBRIDGE:
With a standing kick, Mrs Keel demolished the door as the five of them moved in. Cassandra turned to the others:
"He has a grappling hook. Fired from a pressure gun. We need some sort of shield."
Catman nodded in response: "Any accomplices, Cassandra?"
"No. I think he's taking advantage of the cover of darkness."
"Bashing in the front door is hardly inconspicuous" Mrs Keel observed.
Abruptly, a wheelchaired figure hurriedly moved his apparatus across the upper floor as they caught sight of his assailant for the first time. Catman fired his own grappling gun at the upper stairs as "Winged Victory" turned his claws to face the new intruder. At the same time, the two Revengers, Cassandra and Black Siren ran up the stairs and found Rick Angelus waiting for them:
"Are you all right, Mr Angelus?"
"That thing...it...it's taken inspiration from my Winged Victory series, but... it...wants to kill me."
"He certainly seems athletic, Mr Angelus. Any idea why?" Anna Keel asked.
"I...was going to retire at the end of this month. Kill off the character."
Black Siren ran forward: "I need to do something about this. Whoever he is, he's trained at this. Anna, Mr Reed?"
The two Revengers joined in, as Winged Victory and Catman fought outside Angelus' bathroom:
"Who the hell are you, mister?"
"None of your attention, sunshine." Winged Victory replied, as Angelus gasped:
"What is it?" Cassandra asked.
"It can't be. Winged Victory is a working class lad. And that's a Cockney accent."
Mrs Keel had joined the fray and slowly but surely, the tide turned from stalemate to prospective victory.
However, sensing defeat imminent, Winged Victory turned and fired his grappling gun hook directly at Angelus. Cassandra brought up a small marble statue from the adjacent table and deflected it.
"No, you don't," said James Reed, with a stiff uppercut to the face. At last, Winged Victory had been quenched. As he lay supine on the floor, Rick Angelus and Cassandra came over while Black Siren pulled off the mask:
"Mr Angelus? It's...it's you...!"
Winged Victory gasped: "In a real sense...I... am... him. I...am from a parallel world where Winged Victory...myself, Bert Wheeler, actually does exist. However, read it closely and you'll see our history diverges from yours in one crucial manner. Namely, Nazi Germany had reserves of poison gas and so, when the Allies launched D-Day, the V missiles were fired. England became a ghost land, leaving me to deal with all of that carnage. You, Angelus. You made me like this. I had a happy life, a wife, a baby daughter. But because of your parakinetic influence on my world's destiny, I was doomed to widowerhood, squalor and a hard-boiled life. Well, it ends here." Winged Victory bit down on what was a cyanide capsule secreted in his jaw before anyone could stop him.
Lifeless, he closed his eyes as the poison took effect.
EPILOGUE: LONDON: NAPOLI:
Before they returned to Seaboard City, Reed and Mrs Keel had promised the three Justice Guilders a night out on the town- which meant a dance night at one of London's swinging jazz clubs. As Catman and Black Siren (now dressed in their civilian identities as Ted Blake and Donna Vance) danced the night away, Cassandra was more pensive as she nursed a vodka in the corner. Mrs Keel joined her at the table: "What is it? I know it's sad, but at least it ended happily, except for poor wretched Albert Wheeler at the end. Just think though, Cassandra, a parallel world. But such a dark place."
"Yes. Yes. I suppose it is."
"After all that, I decided I needed a good stiff martini. Shaken but not stirred, as the saying goes. Seriously, though, Cassandra. At least our world's not like that. It was good to see that Negro gentleman compliment your President Kennedy over the advances in civil rights back in your country. I wish a British politician had his courage and bravery. All that news about Cuba, though..."
Cassandra managed a smile: "I'm sorry, Anna. I think the jetlag's catching up with me."
Because how could you tell a woman that she only had nine more months to live and that at the end of that time, a blinding fireball would spread above London and in a fraction of a second, the lives of her new friends would be snuffed out like a candle? Although Cassandra knew that Reed and Mrs Keel wouldn't feel any pain, she impulsively hugged Anna Keel, knowing this was the last time she would see her alive, given her own imminent death. Bewildered, Mrs Keel returned the embrace, concluding that this was due to Cassandra's relative inexperience, and as she had said, travel fatigue.
Two months later, in March 1962, Anna Keel and James Reed stood sadly over a Seaboard City grave as Cassandra Astriides' coffin was lowered into it. As they walked away, Anna Keel felt a sudden chill while Reed read the latest Seaboard City Times-Picayune. The news was full of ominous undertones; despite the welcome news of the ceasefire between France and the Algerian National Liberation Front, the spyplane downing in Russian territory and the captive U2 pilot overshadowed it, as well as the mounting conflict between the Soviet Union and United States over the newly minted Castro communist regime in Cuba. Still, there was nothing she could do to avert that. Better to concentrate on the latest case that Reed probably had waiting for them back in London...
On October 28, 1962, James Reed and Anna Keel were busy pursuing a malignant scientist who was abusing the government's central computer with a view to providing information to a foreign power. However, in the process, air raid sirens went off. As Anna Reed threw back her hair and took careful aim with her Lugar, both Revengers and their quarry were removed from existence in a white glare of prodigal heat and blinding light as a Soviet ICBM detonated three hundred feet above Nelson's Column in Picadilly. As the mushroom cloud curled upward, though, in distant Seaboard City, the Justice Guild could spare no time to mourn. And then, their own time ran out.
THE END