Tales of the Red Panda: The Crime Cabal

by Gregg Taylor

  A mocking, joyous laugh rang from high above, and at once Sampson had his answer. From the inky blackness that still prevailed near the high ceiling of the club, the Red Panda swooped like some great nameless creature. He landed on a massive table that somehow remained intact and called to the room in a voice like thunder.

  “I have closed this den of inequity once! Must I do it again?” he roared. Sampson knew there was more at work than a human voice. The voice was so clear, echoing over the din. It was a force of will, carrying his message to every member of the panicked crowd, now racing for the illuminated exit. The words burned themselves into the minds of all who heard.

  “Leave this place! Leave and never return!”

  It took every ounce of strength Sampson possessed not to obey that mighty charge, to hold his position on the stairs. Clearly several members of the security teams were less strong, as they abandoned their posts and ran.

  Three burly security men were more determined. Their hands shaking with fear, they closed on the figure of the man in the mask who taunted them with his laughter. Weapons drawn, they began to fire. Even from his vantage point on the stairs, Sampson could see the terror in their eyes, the incomprehension as their bullets failed to find their mark. The masked man still towered above them as they fired into him at point blank range.

  Sampson doubted that they ever understood the truth. Their eyes were wide with fear, and focused only on the image before them. Sampson could see it too, but he knew it must be a hypnotic projection. That the Red Panda was somewhere else entirely. One by one the guards began to fall, disarmed by boomerangs and wrapped up in boleros thrown from behind them. He knew he was right. Still, the image standing on the table was clear as day. With his enemies fled or fallen, Sampson could not help but wonder why the chief maintained the illusion.

  An instant later he had his answer, as a panel door he had not detected slid open and four of the largest men he had ever seen burst forth into the room. They were unarmed, but their bodies coiled like caged tigers released at last onto terrified prey. They swept the path clear of debris as they raced forward, hurling smashed equipment weighing hundreds of pounds aside like a child’s toys.

  But to Sampson’s amazement, they did not move for the form of the Red Panda that he still could see in the centre of the room. As one, they raced to Sampson’s right and charged in the direction that the thrown weapons had come from. But these men did not flail blindly, searching for a target they could not see. They ran directly for the same spot, their massive arms ready to strike. Sampson gasped. Whoever these monstrosities were, they could do what even he, trusted agent that he was, could not do. They could see past the hypnotic illusions – they could see the Red Panda!

  The last members of the crowd fled past Sampson and up the stairs. He broke down the steps and to the right, wondering if the chief had come to the same conclusion. He did not have to wonder long. He could see the massive forms of the new intruders flailing at the air above their heads, throwing chairs and tables, all apparently in vain. It wasn’t hard to imagine the Red Panda’s form dodging those blows. It also wasn’t hard to see that he couldn’t possibly keep it up forever. Sampson knew the chief was a master fighter, trained in a dozen martial arts, but he also knew that with his hypnotic powers defeated somehow, and without backup…

  Sampson reached for the .45 from the back of his belt. An instant before he could draw, the inevitable happened. One of the giants swung his arm in a mighty uppercut. Sampson could tell from the reaction of the arm that the massive guard had connected with something. An instant later, the form of the Red Panda became visible to his eyes, arcing through the air. A hundredth of a second later the chief’s body slammed against the wall with terrible force and slumped to the ground.

  Sampson heard a gasp behind him and turned quickly. Forty feet away, he could see the mental projection of the man in the mask fade before his eyes as the real Red Panda struggled with consciousness. But the gasp had come from twenty feet back and to his left. It was the stranger in the waiter’s uniform who had attracted so much attention earlier. Before Sampson could move to intercept him, the stranger raced forward, drawing a .38 revolver and calling at the top of his voice as he did so,

  “Hey, you! Hold it right there!”

  The massive forms of the bruisers stopped in their tracks. They looked back at the charging form of the supposed waiter, and two of them broke towards him. The other two carried on towards the helpless form of Sampson’s crime-fighting chief.

  The Red Panda struggled gamely to his feet and managed to dodge one crippling blow from the first of the gargantuan gangsters, but was not so lucky with the second. He was struck a glancing blow that nearly put him through the wall. Another ham-like fist was thrust at him at terrible speed. This one he managed to parry with a judo-throw, forcing one assailant into the other and sending both off-balance.

  The Red Panda seemed in control for the moment. Sampson halted his charge and turned to the stranger. As the two giants barreled down upon him, the waiter stopped and leveled his .38 at the first charging brute. He did not aim for the man’s centre mass, or for his head, but with the cool air of one that had seen such creatures before, he aimed and fired at the man’s left kneecap.

  Sampson could not believe his eyes. The stranger’s aim was true, but the creature charging him barely slowed down, in spite of what must have been unbearable pain. The stranger fired five more shots in rapid succession at the same target, and each found their mark. At last, when the sixth bullet collided with the huge leg, there was not enough of the bone left to support the weight of the great man. He fell to the floor with a crash, though Sampson could see that the giant was still crawling, still trying to reach this mysterious new ally.

  The second giant vaulted over the crippled form of the first without a glance back. The stranger was racing to reload his pistol. Too late he thought to turn and run, and he was hurled across the room with a mighty blow, crashing against one of the support pillars with a sickening thud. Still the second giant raced on towards the unconscious man. Sampson knew that the man didn’t have a chance. The Red Panda was on his feet at least. Sampson made his choice. He pulled something from his jacket pocket and raced straight towards the oncoming freight train of a man. He could see only cold fury in the man’s eyes as they closed at top speed. He could not even tell for certain if the man saw him, so intently was he focused on destroying his target. Sampson passed the prone form of the stranger just seconds before colliding with the giant. At the last possible second he dropped and rolled, somersaulting between the onrushing feet of his attacker. As he came up behind the man, who had hardly slowed down at their near-collision, Sampson turned his body and clipped the device he had pulled from his pocket on the back of the giant’s belt.

  Sampson scurried away as the big man turned, baffled at the agent’s disappearance. Gregor struggled to his feet, fumbling for the switch in his pocket as he did so. With his right hand he hauled forth the .45 and pumped two bullets into the chest of the giant man. What he saw was exactly what he expected, but still it shocked him. The man took the bullets with no reaction at all, beyond a small shrug in response to the concussive force of the blow. The giant seemed only confused between his two possible targets. Sampson decided to make his choice easy for him and began to run back onto the open floor of the ruined gambling den.

  As he had hoped, the moving target became more interesting to the beast-like instincts of the giant, and he lurched after Sampson’s retreating form. The giant man never heard the words that Sampson was quietly counting down as he ran.

  “Three… two… one.”

  At last, the backup explosive device that Sampson had brought with him on his mission exploded, tearing the giant man in half as it did so. Sampson could hardly bear to look as the form of the mighty combatant slumped to the floor, but it seemed to him the man was still conscious, still aware… still struggling to reach him somehow.

  A cry from across
the room drew his attention away. The battle was not going well for the Red Panda. Weakened by the initial attack and hurt since then, he was playing a losing game of tag with the two superhuman giants that remained. Sampson began to charge anew to his chief’s aid, but what he could possibly do against such odds he could not begin to imagine.

  At that instant, a mighty swipe from the larger of the two caught the Red Panda in the side of the head and he staggered back. He struggled to right himself, but it was to no avail, and he slumped to the floor, helpless.

  Gregor Sampson was beside himself. He was still too far away to intercede, except with his .45 which he knew to be useless. He raced as fast as he could, knowing he could never get to his chief’s side in time to save him, even if it were in his power to do so. Suddenly, he heard a familiar voice calling from nowhere.

  “Hey, Fatty!” the Flying Squirrel’s voice rang. “Over here!”

  Both giants paused, confused at this voice that seemed to come from the corner of the room, which they could plainly see was empty.

  “What’s the matter? Too slow to take on one little girl, or just too stupid?” the voice taunted. “Too much pie, that’s your trouble, Tubby!”

  Whether these beasts of men understood her words or not, it was impossible to say, but they each lumbered forth to see where the voice had come from. Still it called to them, always just a few feet out of reach. Behind the next chair, or from a shadow nearby. Twenty seconds after they had heard the voice for the first time, both giants found themselves in the corner of the room. They stood there an instant, too baffled to react. Then they heard a rolling noise from behind them. One looked to his feet and saw the three hand grenades she had thrown after them. The other looked back and saw the lithe form of the Flying Squirrel blowing them a kiss as the grenades detonated and tore them both to pieces.

  The Flying Squirrel turned like light and raced towards the unconscious form of the Red Panda.

  “Sampson!” she called to the agent. “Help me with the Boss!”

  Sampson raced towards her. “Is he all right?”

  “When he’s all right he doesn’t usually lie on the floor, Gregor. Let’s get him out of here!” She struggled to pull the big man to his feet. “Those pineapples blew a hole in the wall… we’ll take him out that way! Come on, before this place goes sky-high!”

  “What?” Sampson was stunned. “You rigged the place to blow?”

  She gave him a withering look. “I don’t usually do that without an exit plan, Gregor. It’s more of a guideline than a hard and fast rule. Come on!”

  Sampson suddenly remembered the stranger who had stood with them against the attackers. “Wait!” he called. “That other fellow!”

  “What other fellow?” she snapped.

  Sampson turned and spotted the man struggling to his feet.

  “Him!” he said, pointing.

  The Flying Squirrel’s mouth dropped open in surprise as she recognized the bruised and battered form of Constable Andy Parker.

  “What’s he doing here?” she roared. “Never mind! Get him!”

  Sampson turned and raced back to help Parker.

  “The whole place is wired top to bottom!” she called after him as she struggled to hoist the Red Panda to her shoulders in a fireman’s carry. “I managed to cut the remote detonators, but I think there was a backup timer. We have to get outta here now!”

  Sampson hauled Parker up like a sack of potatoes. “This whole thing was a setup!” he called.

  “Ya think? Get him outta here!” She disappeared through the smoking hole in the wall opened by the blast, carrying the chief with her.

  Sampson pulled the half-stunned Parker along with him, up the main staircase and out through the once-grand ballroom of the Golden Goose, which also lay in ruins. He heard men’s voices calling behind them, yelling for them to stop. They struggled on. As they neared the side door into the alleyway, Sampson fired twice blindly over his shoulder, the roar of the mighty .45 sending their pursuers scurrying.

  He slammed against the door, the force of the contact knocking the breath out of him for a moment. The alley was dark and quiet, the whine of police sirens approaching from far-off. The man he was pulling along seemed to be regaining his senses. He tried to pull away from Sampson for a moment.

  “Don’t get any ideas, kid. If we’re gonna get out of this, we’ve got to stick together.”

  “Where are we going?” the man protested.

  Sampson suddenly heard a series of powerful roars coming from the top of the building they had just left.

  “Away from here!” he answered. “Come on!”

  The two men raced on together into the darkness of the alleyway as the once-grand Golden Goose nightclub burst into pieces around them.

  Sixteen

  The Red Panda’s eyes opened slowly. He struggled to focus on the unfamiliar ceiling for a moment, to recall just why he–

  He sat up with a start and immediately wished he hadn’t. His head throbbed and he felt a hot rush of blood to his cheeks. He felt a sharp pain in his side that made him gasp a little for breath and a rush of nausea set in. He steadied himself with his hand against the mattress beneath him and pushed himself further up. He had to try and remember what had happened, where he was…

  He stopped suddenly as his eyes focused on Kit, sitting in a hard wooden chair at the end of the bed. Her feet were propped up on the end of his cot and she looked for all the world like she had been in the same position for hours, which he supposed she probably had. Her chin was resting in the palm of her left hand, which covered most of her mouth, but not enough to hide the crooked half-smile that played about her face as he rose. She was wearing an oversized black sweater, rolled up at the sleeves. Her large, brown eyes seemed to look straight through him, unblinking. Her hair was piled atop her head in a shape something not unlike a red mop. It was a phenomenon she called “cowl-head,” and it happened whenever she’d had the costume on for a long while. She did her best to keep him from ever seeing it, mostly because she didn’t have a clue how appealing he found it.

  At last she blinked slowly. “You’re looking at my cowl-head, aren’t you?”

  He sighed and fell back onto the hard cot without a word.

  “This is the thanks I get,” she smiled.

  He stared at the ceiling, hoping quietly that it would stop spinning soon, and began to quiz her, rapid-fire.

  “Where are we?”

  “One of the safe houses.”

  “Which one?”

  “Above the Black Horse.”

  “How long was I out?”

  “About seven hours. Feel fresh as a daisy?”

  “No.”

  “Me neither.”

  “One of those monsters knocked me out.”

  “I noticed that.”

  “How did I–”

  “I carried you. And you might want to think about ditching some of the anvils in your pockets if we try that again. I’d look lousy in a truss. It’d mess up the lines of the suit.”

  He groaned a little. “Did you sleep?”

  She still hadn’t budged. “Me? Like a baby.”

  “Really?”

  She looked at him like he was a small, dim child of whom she was inordinately fond.

  “No,” she said at last and got to her feet.

  “You hungry?” she said, padding off to the other room.

  “Coffee,” he said out of need more than enthusiasm.

  “No coffee,” she called. “Doctor Carlson said you might be dehydrated.”

  “Doctor Carlson was here?” he seemed surprised.

  Her head popped back around the doorway. “Have you ever noticed me sneaking away to medical school in my many leisure hours?” she said, batting her eyelashes.

  “Not as such, no.”

  “Then can we assume for the moment that I called the Doctor?”

  His hand felt for the bare skin of his face, more by instinct than conscious worry. She smiled again
.

  “And can we also assume that I made him leave your mask on while he examined you? Just on account of my not being an idiot.” Her head popped back around the corner.

  “What did Doctor Carlson say?” guessing she was enjoying the banter and not actually offended by his gaffe.

  “You mean besides the usual warnings of our inevitable and gruesome demise if we keep this up?” she called from what he guessed must be the kitchen.

  “Yes, besides that,” he said, noticing his mask and gloves on the side table, and hat hanging on a nail in the wall.

  “He said you’ve probably got a concussion, and you’ve certainly got at least two broken ribs, and we were lucky you weren’t killed or crippled and I should keep you in bed for at least a few days.” She reappeared carrying a large, steaming bowl. “I tried to explain that I wasn’t that kind of girl–”

  “Kit Baxter, behave yourself,” he said, raising himself up, slowly this time.

  “Yes, Boss,” she grinned, setting the bowl down proudly. She held out a spoon.

  “Soup,” she explained.

  He regarded the watery concoction with suspicion. He looked up at Kit with a raised eyebrow.

  “I didn’t say it was good, I said it was soup,” she said. “Eat it or wear it.”

  “You missed your calling, Miss Baxter. You should have been a nurse.”

  “Ya think?”

  “Anything but a cook,” he said, grimacing as he pulled the spoon from his mouth.

  “I opened a tin. This is as domestic as I get. You want the complete list of fellas I’ve ever made soup for?”

  This thought seemed to intrigue him for some reason. “All right,” he said.

  Her cheeks flushed bright red. “It’s just you, dimwit. You were kinda supposed to infer that… Your banter’s off this morning.”