Copyright Jens H. Altmann
E-Mail: Jens.Altmann@excite.de
The only thing necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.
attributed to Edmund Burke
* * *
Danny Templeton looked small and vulnerable in his hospital bed. The boy was asleep. The only sounds were his breathing, the hiss of the oxygen supply and the muffled sobs of his mother.
Alex held Imogen Templeton's hand and squeezed it gently. She returned the squeeze.
“He'd told me one of his classmates was dealing with drugs,” Imogen said softly. “I wanted to do something, but he said he and his classmates had everything under control. They wanted to confront the boy and talk with him.” She sniffled. Alex gave her a tissue. Imogen blew her nose. “Apparently, he did,” she continued. Alex had to strain to hear her. “The other boy beat him up. Nobody helped him.”
Alex let go of Imogen's hand and put his arm around her shoulder. He held her tightly.
“He's only ten years old, Alex. How can children do these things to each other?”
“What are you going to do about it?” Alex asked.
“I suggest she should do nothing,” a voice from behind them said. Alex and Imogen turned. Alex frowned. He hadn't heard the man enter.
“Alex, this is Jonathon Taylor,” Imogen said. “He's one of Danny's teachers. Mr. Taylor, this is Alex Nichols. He's ... a friend.”
“I know,” Taylor said. He held out his hand. “Danny mentioned you. He likes you a lot.”
“I like him too,” Alex said, taking the teacher's hand. “What do you mean, do nothing?”
“Danny was lucky,” Taylor said with a queer smile on his face. “He could've easily been killed. So far as I know, that happens a lot to people who mind other peoples's business.”
“Stopping drug trade at your school sounds like your business, Mr. Taylor,” Alex said.
“It definitely isn't yours. Face it, Mr. Nichols, Ms. Templeton, if you should go to the police with this, there's no telling what will happen. Danny looks quite vulnerable, the way he lies there in that bed. And you shouldn't underestimate the people behind this. If you went to the police, there's no telling what they might do. And they do know where you live, you know.”
“That sounds like a threat.” Alex locked eyes with Taylor. The teacher looked away first.
“Call it a warning,” Taylor said. He looked at Danny. “Be grateful he's still alive. Your priority should be to keep him that way. Wouldn't you agree?”
Taylor went to Danny's bed and put a hand on the boy's forehead. Then he left without looking back.
* * *
Alex took a can of coke from the fridge and plopped himself into his favorite chair.
Imogen wouldn't go to the police and press charges. Taylor's scare had worked. It wasn't that Alex couldn't see her reasoning. If she pressed charges, the dealers would be back out before the cops would've finished the paperwork. Once out, they would get rid of the witnesses any way they could. Taylor's threat had only been a first step, designed to intimidate the witnesses.
It had worked.
Alex drummed his fingers on the armrest. He couldn't go to the police either. Not that he didn't want to; he did. But he couldn't dare. He wasn't a witness, or even involved. It didn't matter to him, but he expected it mattered to the police. If he pressed charges, the dealers would still get out and 'take care' of Imogen and Danny.
He couldn't take that chance.
What had this world come to? People could commit crimes, and honest people couldn't do anything about it even if they wanted to because if they did their lives were in danger. The cops couldn't do anything about it, even if they wanted to — which Alex thought they did, most of them anyway — because the system had evolved to a point where it protected the guilty, not the innocent.
Alex sighed and picked up the remote control. He needed something to take his mind off this matter. He turned the tube on. A news show. Some kind of hostage crisis. Alex switched channels.
“I'm Batman,” Michael Keaton whispered. Alex snorted. It was one of his favorite movies, but he wasn't in the mood for it tonight.
The next channel he tried reran Adam West in the black and mauve suit. Was there no escaping from costumed vigilantes tonight?
The next channel had an old Clint Eastwood movie, Magnum Force. It was about Clint Eastwood shooting vigilante cops.
Alex turned the television off and shook his head. What was this, theme night?
Still, they were all right about one thing. He couldn't stand idly by and let all this happen. He couldn't.
Fortunately, there were ways to get the word out without endangering Imogen and Danny. The solution was just a phone call away.
* * *
“Detective Hammer, please.” As he waited, Alex looked around. There were a lot of people here, but that was normal for train stations. In this day of caller id, Alex felt safer calling Hammer from a phone booth.
“Hammer?”
“Detective,” he said. “It doesn't matter who I am. And don't bother tracing this call, I'm calling from a phone booth. Listen. Somebody tipped me off about a grammar school teacher who's involved in selling drugs to children. Interested?”
“I'm homicide, not narcotics. Who're you talking about?”
“Man named Jonathon Taylor. Works at Kirby High. When you pass this on, don't forget to tell the narcs who tipped you off.”
“You got evidence?”
“Hey, now that you know who to look for, finding the evidence is your job.”
Alex hung up. He looked at the big clock over the entrance. The call had taken a little under two minutes, all in all. Even if they'd traced the call, he'd be in a subway car before they could get here.
Alex got moving.
* * *
When Alex arrived at the hospital, Danny was awake and sipping some pale, watery-looking juice. The boy smiled when he saw his new visitor.
“Alex, hi.”
“Hi, sport,” Alex said. “Looks like you're feeling better.”
“They say he can go home later this week,” Imogen said. Alex touched his lips to hers.
“That's good news,” Alex said. Imogen looked at Danny, then at Alex. There was something in her eyes ... She was afraid.
“Come along,” he said, taking Imogen's arm. “We'll be right back,” he promised Danny. “Grown-up talk, you know.”
“Sure,” Danny said. He waved.
Alex made sure to close the door behind them.
“What's wrong?” he asked.
“Taylor called,” Imogen told him after a couple of heartbeats. “Apparently, the police came to him and asked him about drug deals at his school. He thought I'd called the police and threatened me.” Imogen squirmed. “Let go,” she said. “You're crushing my hand.”
“Sorry.” Alex relaxed his grip. “He threatened you?”
“Yes, but I could persuade him that it wasn't me who'd called the police.” She frowned. “Did you?”
“I wouldn't do anything that would put you and Danny at risk,” Alex said. He would have to have a little talk with Hammer about this.
Once it was over.
“So what do we do now?” Alex asked.
“I'll wait until Danny feels better, then I'll bring him home and try to forget about all this. You'd better do the same, Alex. For all our sakes.” The message in her eyes was a desperate plea. She really was afraid.
Alex gave her a hug until she gasped for breath.
“I won't let anything happen to you. I promise.”
* * *
Alex paced through his apartment. This wasn't right. There had to be something he could do. He couldn't allow Taylor to threaten Imogen and Danny. He couldn't. There had to be something he could do to solve the problem, something that would get rid of Taylor without endangering the woman he loved.
Well, wearing out the carpet wasn't the solution. Neither was staying home. He would only drive himself nuts.
He could go to the dojo to work out his frustration. Yes. That sounded good to him. At least it was better than just sitting here. He went to the closet to pack his gym bag.
As he reached up, his toes stubbed against a cardboard box. Alex hesitated, looked down at the box. He frowned. Alex bent and picked the box up. He slowly opened the lid. Inside the box was a black and blue costume. Alex smiled. He had forgotten all about it. Now that he had found it, he wondered why he hadn't thrown it away, those six months before. That he had ever put this costume on had been the death of too many people. He had used it to bring the serial killer called Slash to justice, but only after Slash had killed several innocent bystanders. What had he called himself back then? Alex frowned as he searched his memory. Then it came back. Midnight Sentinel. Yes, that was it. He felt like a fraud when he found the scrapbook on his adventures as the Midnight Sentinel. He sat down in his armchair and leafed through it. There were the articles on the night he had saved the woman from the rapists. Midnight Sentinel had been an overnight sensation. Not bad for a character he had invented for a costume party. He remembered how quickly the clamor had died down when Midnight Sentinel had vanished after taking down Slash. The press had puzzled about the costumed crimefighter's identity and disappearance. Fortunately, nobody had ever figured it out. Not even Detective Hammer, and he'd gotten closer to the Sentinel than anyone else.
Nobody ever figured it out ...
Alex scratched his chin. His eyes were drawn to the box.
And they do know where you live, he heard Taylor say.
In comic books, heroes wore masks to protect their loved ones. Because if they did something as themselves, their lives would be in danger. But nobody could threaten their families because nobody knew it was really Peter Parker behind that mask, or Clark Kent.
And nobody had ever figured out who the Midnight Sentinel was...
* * *
He had considered renting a car, but the motorbike had been the better choice. He wasn't bound as much to the roads with the bike. Some mud had made the license plate illegible. The black machine and its black-clad rider were nearly invisible in the darkness.
Somehow, it was almost funny that someone like Jonathon Taylor would be in the phone book. Then again, he was only moonlighting as a criminal. He still had a day job where sometimes people had to call him.
The term moonlighting took on a rather literal interpretation. It was already dark when Taylor left his apartment building and drove off. Alex almost missed his departure. When he recognized the car that left the garage, he followed at a respectful distance.
He trailed Taylor using all the tricks he had learned from watching too many bad movies and tv-shows. He switched the headlight off when traffic allowed it, sometimes used parallel roads and generally tried to be inconspicious. It seemed to work, Taylor followed his route without even trying to shake him off.
Okay, Taylor's dumb, Alex reminded himself. That doesn't mean you can get cocky.
It wasn't really a surprise when Taylor's destination turned out to be Kirby High. While the teacher cum dealer parked his car in the lot, Alex passed by the school, to park the motorcycle in an alley about a block away. He made sure he was unobserved and stripped out of the leather clothes, revealing the black and midnight blue outfit he wore underneath. He pulled the back full-face mask over his head and ran to the school.
Finding the room Taylor was in was easy. The chemistry lab was the only room in the entire school where the lights were on and a teenage boy guarded the door. The room was halfway along the corridor. Midnight Sentinel shook his head sadly. There was no way he could reach the guard without being seen. The kid was sure to raise an alarm. That wouldn't do. He had to find another way.
Midnight Sentinel plucked a quarter from his belt. Standing the coin on edge, he let it roll. The sound carried well in the silent corridor. It attracted the boy's attention. The boy looked around. When he was satisfied everything seemed safe, he went to the corner where the coin had ended up.
He's only a boy, Midnight Sentinel reminded himself.
Yeah, but one with a Beretta, and he'd use it without thinking twice about it, another voice inside his head replied.
The boy bent to pick up the coin. Midnight Sentinel tapped his shoulder. The boy looked up. Midnight Sentinel knocked him down.
He dragged the unconscious boy out of sight of the door and tied him up with his own clothes. He popped the Beretta's magazine and ejected the bullet from the barrel.
“You shouldn't play with guns,” he said in his best Clint Eastwood imitation. “Someone might get hurt.”
Peeking around the corner, Midnight Sentinel saw that nobody had replaced the boy. He smiled. Exactly as he had hoped.
Reaching the door was a matter of seconds. The Sentinel stretched his neck to peer through the large window.
Taylor was inside the room, all right, along with a half dozen teenagers. They way they dressed emulated the gangs. Could it be ... No. There weren't enough of them to be a gang. They probably only wanted to appear tough.
Taylor was working with the laboratory equipment. Midnight Sentinel nodded his appreciation. That was a very sweet scam the man ran here. Produce dope with school equipment at no cost to himself. Employ school kids to sell the drugs on the schoolyard. The law couldn't touch the kids, so there was no risk at all. No cost, no risk, all profit.
Time to put an end to this.
He considered his options. He could charge in and start knocking the kids around. That would work until one or two drew their guns and shot him. He didn't doubt for a minute that they were all armed to the teeth. They were juvenile delinquents, after all, and this was a high school. Of course they were armed.
So that was not an option.
He had to use the one advantage he had over these kids: his functioning brain.
Midnight Sentinel looked around. There had to be a way to distract these kids, so much so that he could take them down at his leisure.
Midnight Sentinel looked up and down the corridor, seeing, plotting, formulating his plan. He dashed along the corridor. His soles muffled his steps. He stopped in front of the fire alarm, took a deep breath and smashed the glass.
The alarm bell made one hell of a racket.
The kids left the laboratory. They were visibly confused. Midnight Sentinel smiled to himself. That was the good thing about the way society was run these days. Kids were taught to react first, think later. Especially if some kind of alarm bell rang.
The kids dashed off in several directions. One came toward Midnight Sentinel. He grabbed the edges of the row of lockers, strained and toppled them on top of the boy. The lockers pinned him to the ground. The Sentinel kicked the gun away from the kid and went after the others.
He caught one at the padlock-secured fire door. He knocked him out and tied him up with the chain. Another two actually got as far as the parking lot, before the Sentinel got them. One of them even managed to squeeze off a shot, but he missed. As he tied them up, the Sentinel congratulated himself on the choice of his color scheme. In the dark, he was nearly invisible. The final wo got away before he could get them, but that didn't matter. He was after bigger fry anyway.
Taylor had used the three minutes the Sentinel had spent hunting down the kids to pack up as much of his drugs as his bag would hold. Midnight Sentinel wasn't sure if he should admire the man for his cool head, or shake his head because of the teacher's greed. He listened for the sound of sirens. Three minutes had passed since he'd rang the alarm. The fire brigarde and the cops should arrive any moment now.
“Jonathon Taylor,” Midnight Sentinel said, barely remembering to change the timbre of his voice. “This is a citizen's arrest.”
Taylor laughed.
“Forget it. The day I'll get busted by some clown from a costume party ...” Taylor raised a gun, a Scorpion submachine pistol, and fired a burst at Midnight Sentinel. Sentinel ducked as plaster sprayed over his head.
Lucky this jerk can't shoot straight, he thought. He used the momentum of his forward motion to roll over his left shoulder, coming to his feet right in front of Taylor. He smashed the heel of his right hand under Taylor's chin while he grabbed for the Scorpion with his left.
Taylor sat down hard. The Sentinel tossed the pistol behind him. In the distance, he heard sirens.
Taylor shook his head and laughed.
“What's so funny?” Midnight Sentinel asked.
“You. You really think you can arrest me? I'll be back out again before the paperwork's finished. Then I'll find out who you are and hurt you.”
Midnight Sentinel grabbed Taylor by the collar and pulled the man to his feet. He tried to speak twice, but no words came. The third time was the charm. He remembered a line from a cheap movie he had long forgotten. A line that fit perfectly.
“I expect you to get out,” Midnight Sentinel hissed. “Because when you do, I can get you.” He pushed Taylor back off his feet. “You think I've come to arrest you? Think again. Those sirens save you, not me. You get out, I'll be there, waiting. I'm no cop, after all. I don't have to play by the rules.” Midnight Sentinel wished he wore a cowl instead, so he could show Taylor a menacing smile. “You get out, I'll punch your ticket for good.” He chuckled, hoped it sounded menacing. “Or have you ever heard of a liberal vigilante?”
Midnight Sentinel went to the window and opened it. He looked outside. Fortunately, they were on the ground floor. He turned once again.
“Your choice, Taylor. Serve your time and live. Or walk, and deal with me. But remember: I know where you live ...”
A cop charged into the room, gun drawn. Midnight Sentinel waved at him and leaped out of the window.
* * *
“I thought Midnight Sentinel's retired,” Alex said, putting the newspaper down. “Heck, I didn't even think he really existed.”
“Who cares?” Imogen said. She sat down on Alex's lap and put his arms around him. Alex looked down at the headline: Teacher arrested on drug charges. “Taylor's been arrested. Danny's safe now. I thank god that that man got involved.” She frowned. “I only hope those children he used won't do anything stupid.”
“With Taylor out of the picture?” Alex smiled. “I don't think so.” Especially since Midnight Sentinel had paid each of them a visit and told them what to expect if they screwed up with this second chance they'd gotten. “Me, I'm glad Taylor decided to confess.”
“I've wondered about that,” Imogen said. “If he hadn't, the police probably would've had to let him go. That masked man's arrest was hardly legal, was it?”
“Who cares?” Alex shrugged. “So long as it works?”
And so long as I can keep that damn outfit hidden in my closet , he added silently. He really wasn't cut out to be the hero the media made him out to be.
One of these days he'd probably even get around to throwing the costume away.
THE END