Tales of the Red Panda: The Crime Cabal

by Gregg Taylor

  The shape in the alleyway paused, about twenty feet from the door. Kit couldn’t see what he was doing.

  “Remember,” the Red Panda prompted, “if you see any of Professor Zombie’s creatures, don’t hold back. They’re already dead. Mercy won’t help them and it might get you killed.”

  “I’m the one that threw the grenades last time, remember? Or was that when you were napping?”

  The shape in the alleyway changed its position. It seemed to be behind some cans, opposite the door. She still couldn’t really see what he was doing, but she knew he couldn’t see her.

  “How’s our friend?” the Radio Ring hummed.

  “Couldn’t say. He looks shy. He might be lookin’ for somethin’… a hidden bell maybe, or a release for a secret door. Or I might be making this more complicated than it needs to be.”

  “I wouldn’t mind if it were just a touch more complicated,” he said.

  “How’s that again?” she asked, only mildly distracted.

  “Well, we’ve had our agents looking out for any sign of Bermel or Palmer for days now, with ne’er a peep.” There was another hum of mild static, and this time she could see the lightning, miles away over the lake. “And suddenly today, we get an address of their hideout.”

  She shrugged, although he could not see her. “That’s how it happens sometimes,” she said.

  “From three different sources,” he deadpanned.

  “Yeah. That does stink, doesn’t it?”

  “And then some.”

  The shape down below moved forward slowly towards the door.

  “I can’t figure this guy out,” Kit said. “If this is his hideout, he’s–”

  And all at once, the Flying Squirrel realized what the shape in the alleyway was doing.

  He was doing exactly what she was doing.

  “Boss!” she hissed into the Radio Ring. “It ain’t either of our pigeons! It’s that cop, Parker!”

  “What?”

  “Boss! It’s gotta be a trap! I’m goin’ in!” she cried as the shape down below reached forward for the doorknob of the single door, the sole point of illumination down a dead-end blind alleyway. They might as well have painted TRAP on the wall in bright yellow paint, if only she had seen it before.

  “Squirrel! Wait for me!”

  There was no time. Even with his speed, by the time the Boss got here, it would be far too late. She hurled herself off the ledge, spinning gently to the right as she plummeted towards the ground at gut-wrenching speed. She unfurled her gliders, but kept her arms close to her sides a little longer… no time to waste… not a second.

  At a point long after that which most people would have considered the last possible second, she stretched her left arm away from her body just a little… just enough to increase the drag and point her feet slightly towards the wall.

  She engaged her Static Shoes and felt them thrust her forward from the wall at great speed as she fell. All at once she opened up both gliders and turned the full force of her dive into forward momentum as she raced silently through the blackness towards the form of Constable Andy Parker. He was illuminated now, just visible as more than an eager, grey shape in the blackness. His hand was almost on the doorknob…

  The Flying Squirrel hit him dead on like a ton of bricks just as the door exploded into a million fiery shards. Carried by the force of the collision and startled by the blast, the two of them careened fifteen feet, into the wall at the very end of the alleyway. Before he even knew what had hit him, she was hauling him to his feet and pushing him past the smoking remains of the doorway.

  “Run, idiot!” she screamed, and he was still too startled to do anything but obey. He looked up as they neared the doorway, and gasped to see two giant men nearing the portal. They were like the others he had faced, but with faces a sickly grey-green pallor.

  He saw a small projectile whiz over his shoulder and into the doorway, landing at the feet of the two monsters. She streaked past him like he was standing still.

  “Faster!” is all she had time to say before the grenade blew and freed the two zombies from their undead shells.

  They had not taken ten more steps into the blackness of the alleyway before they heard a roar like thunder, only much, much closer than the storm that gathered over the lake. From high above, along the tops of the two buildings that created this urban canyon, there was a series of carefully timed blasts, beginning at the far end of the alley and working towards them.

  In an instant, the Squirrel realized what was happening and turned on her heels, pushing Parker back towards the ruined doorway. The explosions carried the destructive punch of a wrecking ball, and their effect was immediate. From either side, the upper floors of the buildings crumbled inward, filling the only exit to the alley like a cave-in. Seconds later it was all over, and the last great boulders of bricks and mortar were piled high, just inches from where the Flying Squirrel stood.

  “Now what?” Parker asked as two more behemoths lumbered out of the building, not registering the shattered bodies of their fellows beneath their feet as they did so.

  “Dunno, Pokey,” she said, breathlessly. “Can you climb walls?”

  “Can I–? No,” he replied.

  “Then you may have a little trouble here,” she cracked.

  “All right, you two – hoist ‘em!” came a weasely voice. From behind the two zombies Case Bermel and Mitch Palmer appeared, each with a Tommy Gun and a smug expression.

  “Well, well,” Palmer said. “Look, Case. We got us some company. You two been a thorn in a lotta sides for a long time. But you didn’t have enough goods to deal with the Crime Cabal!”

  “The Crime Cabal?” Parker and the Flying Squirrel said at once.

  “Catchy,” Kit muttered.

  “Er… Mitch?” Bermel said uncomfortably.

  “Shaddup, Case,” Palmer snapped. “I’m tryin’ to enjoy the moment here. Now which one of you wants it first?”

  “Mitch?” Bermel sounded a little more frantic.

  “What is it?” Palmer hissed.

  “If that’s the Red Panda, where’s his mask?” Bermel whimpered.

  “How should I know?” his partner roared. “Maybe he–” He looked around expansively, and something above him suddenly caught his eye. “Oh, no–”

  And before another word could be spoken, a tall, muscular form fell from the blackness above, his long coat billowing behind him making a noise like the wind in a sail. He took Mitch Palmer, feet first, right in the chest. The man in the mask landed on his feet like a cat. Palmer’s landing was considerably less graceful, as he lay on his back, gasping, his ribcage crushed beneath the blow.

  With a motion Case Bermel could barely see, the Red Panda swept his arm around the gun arm of the terrified gangster, twisted it in a lightning-fast ju-jitsu hold and snapped it like a dry twig. Bermel screamed in agony, inadvertently squeezing the trigger of his Tommy Gun and riddling Palmer’s helpless body with hot lead.

  The Red Panda threw Bermel bodily over his shoulder, away from the advancing forms of the two undead soldiers that rushed towards him, their jaws gaping wide with the screams of their torment.

  Suddenly, from beneath the folds of his coat there was the singing sound of metal as the Red Panda drew forth a long bladed katana, a samurai sword.

  Kit Baxter gasped, just a little. She had long admired this blade, a gift to him from one of the dozens of fighting masters he had studied under in his travels. But she had only seen him hold it a few times, and never draw it in battle. He disapproved of deadly force, except in extreme measures, and felt even a finely crafted blade like this left one with few options but to kill.

  But if that lack of use had left the Red Panda with anything less than total mastery of the weapon, one would have never known it to see him. He moved the blade as if it were a part of his hand, graceful, yet lethal. He crouched low as the first giant approached, and in a single sweeping motion downwards, the sword neatly severed the zombie’s
left leg near the hip, causing the creature to fall in a helpless, immobile mass.

  The masked man rolled forward with the force of the cut, changing his momentum at the lowest arc of his roll and sweeping his arm and upper body along the ground before him. He was back on his feet and standing, the sword re-sheathed, before Kit realized that his cut had amputated both of the second zombie’s legs at the ankles, and left the undead beast in the same state as the other.

  The Red Panda turned back towards them, where Parker stood gaping and the Flying Squirrel breathless.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hello,” he smiled, as he hauled the still-stunned Bermel to his feet.

  Before another word could be spoken, a roar could be heard from high above. As before, the buildings on either side of the alley were being rocked by a series of powerful, precise explosions… but this time they were bringing down the end of the alley above their heads!

  “Into the doorway!” the Red Panda roared as the landslide of debris streaked towards them. The Flying Squirrel pushed Parker before her and then followed, with the Red Panda close behind, half-dragging, half-carrying Case Bermel, their only living link to the Crime Cabal.

  They raced through the abandoned building as two things became abundantly clear: this building had never been the headquarters they sought, and neither Palmer nor Bermel were intended to survive this encounter any more than they were.

  The rotten wood of the empty building began to burn as smaller explosions followed them, herding them forward but away from the building’s front door. In the ceiling, in the walls, the charges sprayed forth fire and debris, automatically geared to drive any survivors deeper into the fiery holocaust. A beam fell just before Andy Parker, causing him to jump back. A charge brought down a section of wall beside the Flying Squirrel, sending her careening into a large, empty room. A second explosion in the ceiling held her there.

  The flames were roaring higher around them. The Red Panda threw Bermel in Parker’s direction.

  “Get him out of here!” the masked man ordered. “He’s our only lead!”

  He turned back towards the room the Squirrel was trapped in. He was half-blinded by the smoke, but he could see her clearly, just a few feet away…

  An instant later, a series of small charges fired in sequence around the edges of the floor in the great, empty room. It happened at tremendous speed, like a machine-gun fired from below, but with far more devastating results. A second later, the entire floor dropped out from underneath her and she fell into the open blackness below, out of his sight.

  “Boss!” she cried, her hand reaching up towards him as she fell.

  The Red Panda grit his teeth hard and raced towards the ruined room, reaching for his grapple line as he did so. He hardly noticed the first charges that burst above him, but he could not help but see the ceiling coming down before him, bringing the second story down in a great wall of fire. His path was completely blocked with a mass of flame and debris. He could hardly see, but he could hear another series of charges bring the ceiling down with a deafening roar, in what was left of the room in which Kit had been standing. He held his ground a moment… two… then he heard a cry from behind him. It was Parker, almost lost in the blaze, desperately trying to pull Case Bermel out of the conflagration.

  He turned back to the shattered room and held his gaze another moment, then raced after Parker.

  From somewhere, over the roar of the flames, he could swear he heard laughter.

  Twenty-Five

  Minutes later, the back door of an abandoned store was kicked halfway off its hinges, and the battered form of Case Bermel, former enforcer for the Ryder mob, betrayed member of the Crime Cabal, came hurtling into the empty room. He landed with a dull thud, barely registering the clouds of dust his impact threw up around him. His arm was grotesquely broken, and he had taken shrapnel to the chest from one of the explosions. His dark suit front was stained with his own blood and he was gasping for breath. His left hand was badly burned by the fire that now raged down the street.

  The air was thick with the howl of sirens. Police, fire trucks, ambulances, all descending upon the inferno caused by the Crime Cabal’s sinister trap. Bermel struggled to get to his knees. If he could just attract the attention of… of someone…

  The light through the door was suddenly blocked by the large, enraged form of the Red Panda. Savagely, he thrust a boot into Bermel’s midsection, dropping him back to the floor. The masked man reached down with his left hand and hauled the full-sized gangster along as if he were lifting a toy. He took a half dozen strides deeper into the empty room and threw Bermel bodily against a counter-top, which cracked and crumbled at the force of the blow.

  Bermel whimpered. The Red Panda took two steps towards him. From the doorway through which they had just passed, Bermel heard a voice gasp,

  “Hold it right there!” Parker stepped into the room, his .38 revolver extended to arm’s length.

  The Red Panda did not even turn to look at the young policeman. His left hand swept behind him in a rapid motion, and a small, red boomerang folded out in mid-air and cracked into Parker’s hand. It was a blind throw from twenty feet away, but it was dead on target and the pistol flew from Parker’s hand and skipped across the room.

  “Next time you pull a gun on me, Parker,” the masked man growled without turning, “make sure you drop me with one shot, because you won’t get another.”

  Parker’s heart was in his throat, but he stood his ground.

  “That man is a material witness in a criminal investigation–,” he began.

  “–which is precisely what I intended to pursue,” snapped the Red Panda.

  “The police can–”

  “The police have done nothing but bungle and hinder this investigation at every turn!” the Red Panda hissed, his eyes blazing as he turned. “Particularly you. I don’t know what your angle is, Parker, and at the moment I don’t much care. I’ll deal with you later. Now be silent while I interrogate Bermel.”

  “He’s badly wounded,” Parker protested. “He’ll never survive an interrogation.”

  “He’s dead already,” the Red Panda said bluntly, turning back to the gangster where he lay gasping. “Aren’t you, Case Bermel? You can feel the life draining out of you. No power in this world can save you.”

  Bermel gasped his reply. “Y… Yes…,” he said coldly.

  Shivers ran up Andy Parker’s spine. He had seen death before, but never with such grim acceptance.

  The masked man drew closer to Bermel and spoke evenly, almost softly, but with intensity. “They did this to you, Bermel. Your masters. They set you and Mitch Palmer up, and for no other reason than because you once worked with Satchel Braun. They cut their losses, and that cost you both your lives.”

  “I reckon they did,” Bermel said, his teeth gritted in rage and pain.

  “There is only one way you can survive to have your revenge, Bermel. Tell me what you know.”

  Bermel gasped in agony. There was not much time.

  “Why should I?” he spat.

  “I can take the pain away, Case,” the Red Panda said gently.

  Bermel said nothing, but his eyes darted upward, hopefully.

  “No one in the world can save you, but only I can offer you a peaceful death. Free from pain, even with some manner of dignity,” the Red Panda promised. “And I swear to you those who did this will pay a heavy price.”

  Another wave of agony seized Bermel. There was little time.

  “What do I have to do?” he gasped.

  “Just open your mind to mine, Bermel.” The Red Panda’s tone changed. “Open your mind to mine…”

  Andy Parker could only look on and gape in astonishment as the man in the mask, through the power of his mind, calmed the writhing gangster. Bermel’s expression changed to one of serenity. His breathing became even and regular. Then, as Bermel’s trance became deeper, he began to answer the Red Panda’s questions. He revealed the locati
on of the Crime Cabal’s headquarters, of the secret entrance in the floor of Fong’s Laundromat. He gave a complete description of the connecting tunnel with its two steel doors, and a general description of the headquarters beyond before his breathing began to become irregular, and his speech faded down to a whisper. And then he was gone.

  “You… you let him die,” Parker glared.

  “You saw his wounds,” the Red Panda said grimly. “Nothing could have saved him. And he got what he deserved.”

  “You don’t get to decide that,” Parker protested.

  “I didn’t decide it, Constable. He did, and his cohorts in this so-called Crime Cabal. Bermel and Palmer had murder on their minds in that alleyway, and they are justly served with their own treachery.” The Red Panda turned suddenly and moved past Parker towards the door.

  “Wait!” Parker called. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  He quickly moved between the Red Panda and the door.

  “Get out of my way,” the Red Panda ordered coldly.

  “This is a matter for the law, Red Panda. I can’t let you race into this half-cocked and get yourself killed.”

  “You also can’t stop me,” the Red Panda said without apparent emotion.

  “Well, I–”

  “You don’t even know what you’re angry about, Parker. Are you trying to maintain the rule of law, chase personal glory or save my life? Whatever it is, I don’t have time for it. Get out of my way.” He loomed closer to Parker, until the two were almost nose to nose. Parker swallowed hard but held his ground.

  “You can’t do this alone,” Parker protested.

  The Red Panda grit his teeth in anger. “I wouldn’t have to if you’d stayed out of this,” he growled. “She raced into a bad situation to save your miserable life, just as she had saved it twice already. You have a habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. If time were more convenient I would think to wonder why.”

  Parker flushed. “Do you think–”

  “I don’t know and I don’t care. I don’t have time for you.” The Red Panda threw Parker aside with one thrust of his arm.