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The Crimson Avenger
Promises to Keep
Author's Notes
Lee Travis was not born wealthy, and he inherited his wealth and the newspaper upon his godfather's apparent death in 1937. Larry Travis, Lee's older brother, married in 1933 and had a daughter in 1935. Lee was her godfather, and he was fairly close to her. She was a frequent guest at Lee's penthouse after he inherited the paper, and she formed a close attachment to her "cousin" Wing How in her childhood.
After Lee's disappearance, Larry Travis stepped in to run the Globe-Leader. Linda took an interest as she grew up, majoring in Journalism at Columbia in the mid-'50s, working first as a reporter, then an editor, and finally becoming the publisher of the Globe-Leader in 1977.
When Lee was rescued from another time and returned to 1972, he sought out his family. The effects of the Nebula Man's destruction restored what little memory there was of the Seven Soldiers of Victory to the people of the world, and in the process Larry and Linda realized that certain things they found among Lee's effects after his disappearance pointed to his having been the Crimson Avenger. Rather than disrupt their life, Lee spent the next few years writing his memoirs and finally embarked on a several-years-long trip around the world in 1976. He died in 1981, and his brother died a year later of cancer.
Linda Travis is now 52 years old, never married, living in New York, and is the owner/publisher of the Globe-Leader.
"Whoa, check it out, Roy. The man cleans up pretty nicely, doesn't he?"
Roy Harper turned away from his workbench where he had been concentrating on fletching an arrow to see what the leader of Infinity Inc. was crowing about this time. Sylvester Pemberton was an old friend, but even friendship could wear a little thin when the object of that friendship had a habit of showing off every new toy or idea. "Yeah, Sly, whatcha got for me to see today?"
"It's nothing special, Roy. I just got back from a little shopping trip with Rick and Beth. They thought I could use a little help picking a modern wardrobe." The object of Sylvester's boasting was a tall, muscular Oriental man, decked out in black, pleated wool slacks, a white button-down shirt with a flared collar, and a long black vest. His hair was cut short, with a careless-looking tousled effect held in place with liberal applications of mousse. "What do you think? Am I an eighties kind of guy, or what?"
"Good gosh, Wing, you sure look the part!" Roy came over and clapped a hand down on his shoulder. "Though it's still hard to get used to how tall and big the Nebula Man made you. Going out for a night on the town?"
"Actually, I'm about to leave for New York. Sylvester tells me that this, what's it called, 'Red-Eye Express,' can actually me get me across the country overnight."
"Oh, man, I hate those flights. I can never sleep on a plane. Got to admit, though, an eight hour flight beats the heck out of flying for twenty hours from L.A. to New York!" Roy turned back to the vise where a partially-completed arrow was held in place.
"It hardly seems possible! What happened, did your family find the Star-Rocket Racer and sell the patent for it, Sylvester?"
"Nah, Pat found it hidden away, right where he'd left it, when we got back. Nobody even thought to look for it all those years." Sylvester found a chair, turned it around, and sat down on it backwards as Wing How leaned against the doorway, reached in a pocket for a small package, and shook out a cigarette. "Hey, don't you know those things are bad for you?"
"Seriously?" asked Wing, looking at the pack of Lucky Strikes with an incredulous look on his face. "'Warning. The Surgeon General has determined that smoking may be hazardous to your health'," he read. "Huh. Who'd have thought it?" He crumpled the pack and tossed it in a trash can.
"Lots of surprises waiting for you, buddy," said Roy with a grin. "Sly and I have had a few years to adjust, but you've just returned. Jets and cigarette warnings are just a sample of it."
"I know. Just going to that, what did they call it, Galleria, was like traveling to another world." Wing's eyes widened at the memory. "Who would have thought that you could come up with over thirty-one flavors of ice cream? Or one hundred flavors for jelly beans?"
"I know what you mean!" exclaimed Roy Harper as he finished attaching the feathers to the arrow. "So, what's the trip to New York for?"
"There is somebody that I need to see," was the quiet reply from the man who was believed dead for thirty-seven years, long after his teammates from the Seven Soldiers of Victory had been returned from the various time periods to which they had been scattered in the late 1940's.
"Wing, for what it's worth, I tried that when I got back." Roy shook his head. "A bad scene. Here I was, still looking about 19 years old, and Rebecca over 40 years old. I had been almost ready to propose to her before our last case, and I found her with a husband and four kids."
"Don't worry, Roy. Linda was not a girlfriend of mine, and I think she will understand what has happened. But I need to go see her." Wing looked down at a box that he held in his hands. "I have a promise to keep."
***
Wing spent the following day getting reacquainted with New York City. He spent two hours marveling at the World Trade Center, hardly believing that anybody could create something so immense, yet so beautiful, in a stark, simplistic fashion. He went up to the observation deck and looked over the city that he had called home for over ten years. Much to his surprise, he discovered that Broadway show tickets were available very cheaply if you decided to catch a matinee at the last minute. He marveled at the changes in stage technology as he watched a musical adaptation of a movie he had loved as a teenager. Not that the Englishman playing the title role was any match for Lon Chaney, but the sheer decadent splendor of the show was a marvel to behold.
After stopping in at the Carnegie Deli for a sandwich that was still made the way he remembered, Wing How was ready to meet a very important part of his past.
It was just past seven o'clock when Wing got off the elevator and rang to doorbell in the foyer of the penthouse. It wasn't the one he had lived in with his employer, friend and partner, Lee Travis, but it was similar enough to evoke old memories. However, when the door opened, the flood of memories was overwhelming.
"Linda?" he asked of the woman who stood before him. "Linda Travis?"
"Oh dear God in Heaven! Not again!" came the whispered reply. "Wing? Uncle Lee said you couldn't come back! Was he wrong? Oh, please, let him have been wrong!"
There, in the doorway, the two embraced.
Wing How and Linda Travis sat on a balcony, looking out over the Manhattan skyline.
"You always did like sitting out at night, didn't you?" he asked.
"It's the only time that this city seems peaceful. You can look out there and almost imagine that we're living up to the promise of a free society."
"From what I've been hearing, we aren't quite there yet, are we?" Wing sighed as he looked out toward the river. "Lee never stopped believing that we could do better."
"I know. He and Dad were two of a kind. Remember, you taught me to read with Uncle Lee's editorials." Linda leaned her head back, eyes closed, a smile on her face.
"Well, I figured that if I was going to be teaching you, I should try teaching you more than just reading. That's how Lee taught me to read." Wing chuckled. "At least I had a pupil who understood English."
"Awww, Wing, I still remember those nights I spent at Uncle Lee's penthouse. He was supposed to be baby-sitting me, but it was always you that looked after me." Linda picked up a wineglass and took a sip. "Of course, it wasn't until many years later that I found out why he was gone most nights. And then you even joined in on the crimefighting, eh?"
"Yes, though I didn't start until the fall of '42. Poor Lee. He tried his best to keep me out of danger, but it didn't work out that way."
"Oh? How did that all come about?"
Wing leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms out in front of him. "Well, it all started when Lee was sent to jail."
***
It all started with one of Lee's editorials. In it, he accused Joey Scarapelli of running a smuggling operation through his plumbing warehouse down on the East River. Scarapelli was a respected businessman, a backer of politicians and the first man to donate to any charitable cause on the East Side. The paper hit the street at five in the morning, and by noon the district attorney had a team of investigators hauling files out of Scarapelli's home, office, warehouse and his cabin in the Adirondacks. What was more surprising was that, by four in the afternoon, Lee Travis was standing before Judge Horace Cramer.
"Mr. Travis, the charges levied by your paper against Joseph Scarapelli are most serious. Not only do you accuse him of smuggling, but you infer that he is doing so with the intention of aiding European spies within the United States. The Police Commissioner himself has come down here to obtain further warrants to search properties owned by Mr. Scarapelli's business associates. Now, Judge Boorman may have seen fit to issue warrants this morning based on the strength of your claims, but I require more evidence." The judge scowled at Lee from his seat at the bench. "Where did you get the information for your editorial?"
"I'm sorry, Your Honor, but I cannot answer that question. My information comes from a source within Joey Scarapelli's organization, and if I were to reveal his name, his life would be in jeopardy."
"Your Honor, please! If Scarapelli is involved in such actions as the Globe-Leader has accused, then surely any of the people involved are not worthy of such protection!" Lee and the judge, as well as everyone else in the courtroom, turned to face the District Attorney. "If one of these dirty rats is killed, that's just one less body to take up space in the state pen!"
"Mr. Travis, I must agree with District Attorney Shapiro. I offer you a choice: either reveal the name of your informant, or I will have you taken to the City Jail until such time as you are willing to cooperate."
"Your Honor, I cannot place my own convenience before the safety of my source." Lee turned toward the bailiff and extended his wrists. "I choose jail."
As cameras clicked and flashbulbs burst in flashes of light, the courtroom went wild with questions. I tried to get close to Lee, but I could not get through the press of reporters and police. By the time I got near the front of the courtroom, they had led him out. I fought my way back through the crowd to the exit, and sprinted around the building. The court house sat back-to-back with the police station, and I slipped through an alley, vaulted a fence, and jogged around to the front. When I went inside, I found the desk sergeant and told him that I was there to see Lee Travis. He arranged for me to meet with him in one of their interrogation rooms.
It took about a half hour before they brought him in there. He told me that he had gone through the whole fingerprinting, photographing and paperwork routine while I was waiting. I got right to the point.
"What do you need me to do, boss?"
"Wing," he said, "I appreciate it, but there's not a whole lot you can do. My source, he's really worried about his name being revealed. It's not just Scarapelli that he's worried about. He told me that there's this new boss among the gangs. The call him the Hammer, and he's coming down real hard on any body that talks to the cops."
"Any idea who this Hammer guy is, Lee?"
"No, but even that doesn't worry me as much as the judge's insistence on knowing my source. No other judge in the city has ever worried about that before." Lee leaned back in his chair, looking at the ceiling. "I wonder why that is?"
"This may sound dumb, but what if he's connected to the Hammer?" I snapped my fingers. "Wait a second, boss! The Hammer! The judge with gavel! You don't suppose...?"
"It sounds crazy, Wing, but this city has seen crazier things." Lee sat back up. "As soon as my lawyer gets me out of here, I'll start looking into it. You'd better get going, he's due here any minute."
"Okay, boss. I'll stop by in the morning." I left, but I was already forming an idea. Why wait until Lee Travis was released for the Crimson Avenger to start checking the local gathering places of the crooks?"
I rushed back to the penthouse. I opened the secret door in his closet, revealing the sub-closet where he kept his uniforms. I pulled one out and tried it on. There, in front of his full-length mirror, I started laughing.
Lee Travis was an even six feet tall, with broad shoulders. At the time, I was only five-foot, five inches, and I was really thin. Lee's costume hung on my like elephant skin on a crane. I went to put it back in its place when I spotted something.
Folded on a shelf was a costume similar to that of the Crimson Avenger. Like his, it had the cowl with the fin on top and the domino mask. It had a sunburst on the chest and a belt for the smoke capsules. But it was like a negative image of the Avenger's costume -- yellow where his was red, red where his was gold. I took it out, and found that it was made to my size. Apparently, Lee had already considered that I might follow in his footsteps. I donned the costume and slipped out of the building and into the night-time streets of New York.
Now, I had not done more than drive the Avenger to general spots around town, but he had told me enough of his adventures that I knew some of his usual places for gathering information. The first was a waterfront bar called The Wolf's Den.
It was not a very noisy place. Most of the men in there weren't trying to be noticed, they were there to avoid notice. Still, when I walked in, it got even quieter.
"Who da hell are you, punk?" asked a man sitting by the door. He stood up and glared down at me.
"I'm a friend of the Crimson Avenger's! You can call me, ahh, the Yellow Kid!" I heard a few laughs around the room at that. Like me, at least some of them knew that the Yellow Kid was a comic strip from the newspapers many years earlier. "I'm looking for information about Joey Scarapelli!"
All around the room, I heard the sound of chairs being pushed back and I saw men rising to their feet. Men like that don't like it very much when someone is out to get one of their own. So I decided to play it Lee's way. "Look, you know the Globe-Leader doesn't like the Avenger, and they're trying to take down Scarapelli. Connect me with one of his people, and we can make the paper and their boy Travis look bad."
"Way I hear it, the Avenger is one o' them masked do-gooders. Who's to say, we lead you to one of Scarapelli's boys, what keeps you from turning him over to the cops?" This guy was small, hunched over a table with a bottle of cheap booze and red-rimmed eyes.
"The cops don't talk to us, and we don't talk to them!" I replied.
"Scrap's going down," said a quiet voice. "He ain't playing ball. If the cops don't take him down, he's gonna get hammered." I located the one who was talking. He was tall, thin, with a long nose and narrow-set eyes. He was standing by himself by the bar. I slipped through the crowd and joined him.
"You one of Scarapelli's boys, or one of the Hammer's?" I asked as I waved the bartender over.
"Used to be one'a Scrap's drivers. I seen the writing on the wall, though. This guy, the Hammer, he's got the goods on most'a the bosses in town. Probably got the goods on your buddy, the Avenger, too."
"Can you get me to him?"
"He's got a meet set up for tonight, midnight, at the Lamb Theater."
It was already after ten o'clock. I didn't have much time. "What do you want out of this?"
"A ticket out of New York would be nice. Got a brother in South Dakota, maybe go see him." I reached into my belt, and sure enough, there were some of the cards that the Avenger carried.
"Call this number tomorrow, before noon. If nobody answers, try again the next. Day. Keep trying until you reach someone, and mention the name of this place. You'll be taken care of."
"Yeah, sure." He sounded doubtful, but he still kept the card. I spotted a side door and left.
At midnight, I was already in the balcony of the Lamb Theater. There was a movie that had started at eight, and people were still leaving when I got there just before eleven. With my mask and cowl off, and and overcoat, it wasn't hard to mix with the crowd and get in. Just before midnight, a group of men came in one of the stage doors. Most of them were the typical thugs and torpedoes in suits, but one of them was wearing black robes and a black hood over his face. That had to be the Hammer. And it wasn't looking too good for Judge Cramer.
"All right, you guys have seen what happened to Scarapelli. It's hung up over that newspaper guy right now, but that's how I've planned it!" said the hooded figure.
"If you're trying to cut Scraps out, why are you putzing around with the newspaper guy?" asked one of the suited men.
"Cause he got to one of Scarapelli's men. We don't know which one, and he might be working for one of us. By putting the squeeze on Travis, we find out who the stool pigeon is!" I heard several of the men murmur their appreciation. "I'm in a position to put that kind of pressure on anybody our guys rat us out with."
"Not for long, Hammer!" I cried as I dropped down into their midst. I might not have had Lee's fighting experience, but I was the one who taught him judo, karate and savate. I was helped by the smoke capsules I had thrown down as I jumped, which burst open and spilled crimson smoke all over the stage. It was easy to hear them in their confusion, and I had knocked out most of them before I got a hold of the Hammer. I had hold of his robes in one hand, and with the other I reached to rip the hood off of his head. "This is the end of your plans, Judge Cramer!" I yanked it off, and saw his face. "You?!?"
That's when someone hit me with the butt of a pistol, and I fell to the floor unconscious.
When I came to, I was tied to a chair. I didn't move, and just opened my eyes enough to get my bearings. The Hammer had his mask back on, though a couple of his thugs were still lying on the floor.
"Hey, I thought the Crimson Avenger was bigger than this!" said one of his friends. "And doesn't he wear a red costume?"
"After the way he slugged me, I don't care how big he is!" said another. "I say we shoot him and drop his body in the river right now."
"No, no, gentlemen. Far better to teach a lesson to any would-be mystery men in this city. We'll shoot him all right, but it will be on the steps of the Police Headquarters."
While they were trying to decide what to do with me, I had been working on the ropes that bound my wrists. They had tied them tight, but they didn't count on the heavy wristbands of my costume. Lee and I had figured out that if we put some extra weight in the cuff of his costume, his punches landed harder. Luckily, he had done the same with the costume he made for me. When they tied me, the weighted band was under the rope. As I worked my wrists back and forth within the loops of rope, the band slid out from under it. That gave me the slack I needed to work the knots loose; I just needed a few minutes more.
"We gonna take him now, boss? The truck is out back, so we can stick him in there, chair and all."
"Yeah, take him out," replied the Hammer. That was it; out of time and my wrists weren't free yet. I was still feigning unconsciousness, but I had shifted my feet enough to get them under me. They were tied together, but they weren't tied to the chair.
"Come on, Frankie, gimme a hand with him." The speaker was right behind me. I leaned forward as far as I could, planted my feet on the ground and stood up. The chair came up behind me, and I felt it hit the unseen thug. I twisted at the waist, swinging the chair around to hit the guy coming from the side. Unable to see where he was, I missed him. That put me in position for my next move, though. I jumped up and threw myself backwards. This brought my full weight down on the chair.
"Yow!" I cried out as I hit. I was expecting the chair to break, like they do in the movies. Real life doesn't work that way sometimes, though. I looked up and saw this big ape jumping at me. I twisted over onto my side and let him come down on the chair. His weight, easily twice my own, broke the chair into pieces.
"Thanks!" I said as I hopped to my feet. I don't think he heard me, though, from the way he was groaning on the floor. I looked around and saw that there were five guys left standing, not counting the Hammer. The first one came at me, and I stopped him with a pair of quick jabs to the jaw. I slid one foot backward a bit and came up on my toes, waiting for the others to charge me. They didn't keep me waiting long. Two of them came at me from ten o'clock and two o'clock, figuring I could stop one but not both. They were both trying to grab me, with their arms outstretched. I grabbed the wrist of the one on my left, and pulled him in front of me. The one on my right plowed into him, and I kept pulling the first across in front of me so they both tumbled off to the right. The gave me just enough time to bring my left foot up in a reverse sweep into the stomach of a guy trying to sneak up behind me. The last guy was smarter, though; he had reached for a gun.
The two tacklers were already getting back to their feet as I reached for my belt. That's when I realized they had taken it off of me before tying me to the chair. I dove low for the gunman, tackling him at the knees. The gun went off as he fell back into the wall, and I heard the SPANG of lead ricocheting off of harder metal. The lighting in the room started flickering and the shadows were moving oddly, so I figured he had hit the light fixture. I grabbed the gun out his hand, and threw it with a backhand at one of the guys behind me. It struck him in the face, and he went down. I made sure the shooter was out, and turned back to see who was left. There was only one on his feet, and he wasn't moving too fast. I looked around for the Hammer, and saw him running up some steps. I sprinted after him, stopping only long enough to snatch up a broken leg from the chair and hurl it at the last man standing. It hit him in the temple, and down he went.
I had been in the Lamb Theater a few times, and I knew that the steps he was going up led to a series of private boxes along the side of the theater. I could hear his steps ahead of me, and I followed him to the uppermost box. He had stepped out into the box, and was standing by the railing when I got there. He had removed the mask again, I guess because it interfered with his breathing while he was climbing. When I stepped out, he just stared at me, wild eyed.
"Damn you! You've ruined it all! I could have run this city, but now it's all ruined!" I took a step toward him, and he raised one leg over the railing. "Oh, no, you won't take me in! This ends on my terms!" I reached for him, but he was too quick. He leapt over the railing to the theater floor some thirty feet down. If it had been a flat surface, he might have survived it, but he deliberately jumped out over the rows of seats. I looked down at the broken body of District Attorney James Shapiro.
***
Wing finished telling his story to Linda Travis, the niece of his one-time employer and crime-fighting partner: "All of the newspapers in town had a field day with the revelation that D.A. Shapiro was actually an underground crime boss. Judge Cramer relented and let Lee out of jail, and Scarapelli's case was slated to come to trial in two month's time, with no bail allowed for him. Lee's informant went to work for the paper later that year. And I became the Crimson Avenger's partner in adventure."
"And now he's gone, and you're back, though I have to say there are some real changes."
"Yes, well, being the plaything of a god-like being in his own world can have strange effects on you." Wing flexed his arms, and beat on his chest with a comical Tarzan yell. "I know there were a lot of people who didn't take Wing, the crime-fighter, very seriously."
"What about now? Are you going back to fighting crime?" Linda got up and opened the door into her apartment. Wing got up to follow her inside, carrying the wine bottle and glasses.
"Well, the other members of the Law's Legionnaires are getting back in action, so I figure I might as well do the same. I understand that when Lee died, there didn't seem to be many people who remembered the Crimson Avenger. I owe it to him to make that a name that people remember and respect again."
"I think he would like that." Linda picked up a picture of herself, her father and her uncle, taken shortly after his return from his trip in time. "It was strange, really. When he re-appeared, still in his thirties while dad was in his fifties. He was really struck by that, like he felt that the time he had left might be all that much shorter because of the paradoxes of time travel. He gave Dad and I his blessing in running the paper, and took off to see the world. It wasn't too long after that when he got sick, I guess."
"Didn't he tell you?"
"No, the last I knew, he was in Thailand, then a month later the police told us that his body was found in the harbor after that boat exploded. As far as I know, that was the first time he had worn the costume since he came back."
"That's what Sylvester told me, too." Wing sighed. "Well, regardless, people will know about the Avenger now. Look, I guess I better get going now, but I have something for you before I leave."
Linda cocked her head to the side. "For me?"
"Yes. I remembered all those nights when you came to my room, when you finished your reading, you always wanted to look at my globe."
"Yes! You had that ivory globe, with all the layers carved inside of it!"
"An infinity sphere, that's the closest translation for its real name." Wing reached into the bag he had brought, and pulled out a small box. "All of my own belongings are long gone, of course, but I found this in San Francisco, and I wanted you to have it."
Linda opened the box and pulled out a white ball about four inches in diameter. It was carved with intricate designed, and through the carved areas she could see another sphere within, then another within that, and they seemed to go on forever. "Oh, Wing, it's wonderful!" She looked up at him. "But you aren't going to believe this!"
Holding firmly onto the sphere, Linda walked quickly to her bedroom. When she returned, she held a similar globe in her other hand, which she gave to her old friend.
"Linda, is this--? Oh, my, it is!" Wing's face broke into a wide grin. "How did you wind up with this?"
"When you and Uncle Lee disappeared, Dad kept Lee's penthouse up for several years. When everyone finally conceded that you would not be coming back, he asked if there was anything I wanted to remember Uncle Lee by. There were a few things, which I still have, but I also kept this, to remember you by."
Wing held the sphere up to the light, looking at the familiar shapes. "Yes, with the third sphere broken. Like myself, my first life before I came to America, my second life with Lee, then a break." He handed the globe back to Linda and smiled. "And an infinity of experiences ahead of me."
"Then, take this with you, to remind you of that. I'll keep this one, as the gift you brought me, and when we each gaze into our own spheres, we can think of each other."
Lee bent down to kiss the woman who had once been like a little sister to him, then turned to leave. As he left the building and walked through New York City, he was smiling.
And when he returned to California the following day, he let all of Roy Harper's questions go unanswered. At least for a while.