Special #1: “The Blue Diamond Affair”

A foreword in which the writer babbles
So, if you’re not in the know, you’re probably wondering what this “Freaky Friday” thing is. To put it simply, it was a opportunity to change things up a bit. The idea was that writers from other series could take over a title that wasn’t theirs for a single issue. It allowed writers to take a breath of fresh air from long-running series and to also stretch them creatively into tackling genres or characters that they normally wouldn’t. The success (or failure) of the idea will ultimately be up to you, the reader.

You probably won’t recognize my name. I’m one of the newer writers to the site and don’t have my own title, as my job doesn’t allow me a regular writing schedule. Still I couldn’t resist the chance to tackle Danger Trail. I’m a big fan and Don is absolutely fantastic with his enormous cast of characters and his seemingly effortless ability to orchestrate massive plots so it was with no small amount of hesitation that I took up the mantle if only for a single issue. I hope I have done his creation justice.

To not mess up anything Don has planned, the events of this issue take place prior to Danger Trail #1 and concerns one of the earlier adventures of the masked crimefighter, Midnight. I hope you enjoy it!



October 1933
The fog rolled in early and spread its tendrils through the streets of San Francisco like a curious child, poking its way into nooks, crannies and other places it shouldn’t. One of those places, Dave Clark groused, was into his clothes as he hastily tossed his damp overcoat and hat at the rack by the studio door of UXAM. The fact that he missed and they landed in a crumpled heap on the floor seemed to make no difference. There was only one thing that would mollify him at the moment and that was a cup of mud blacker than night and strong enough to strip paint.

It would be a long night even before he began his “second job.” Mornings after pea soup nights were always bad news for the homicide squad but good news for the news. He’d already finished his stint as his alter-ego Midnight on the radio. He chuckled at the memory of the villain this week, the vampiress Crimson Queen… Where did they come up with this stuff from? He guessed the pulp writers didn’t object to a few more bucks wherever they could earn it. Tonight, however, would be the time for the real Midnight to earn his pay and it would be mobsters, not fictional bloodsuckers, to fear his name.





The Adams Family Mansion
The view out of the bay window was a grey dull mess of nothingness, much like the atmosphere of the dinner party. The wine was distinctly cheap and the food wasn’t much better. Still, appearances had to be maintained Tallulah Lily Adams vowed as she cast her august gaze over the assembled guests at the table. Other than her husband, Robert, there were only four other diners. She discounted Elle Laurent. She was only the household secretary and, no matter how many times she was allowed to eat at the table, the girl was just help and didn’t count.

Frank Midas grimaced at the vinegar passing his lips and glanced over at his wife, Marilyn. It pained him to see the Adamses come to this. Even though his years wore on him, he remembered the boom days and the fortune that Mr. Adams had earned from California timber. He himself had worked his way up to be current manager of the company, which was simply a shade of its former glory after the Depression now that iron and steel was the lifeblood of the country. He had started out with axe in hand and now, much like a redwood past its prime, he was here to cut the dead weight.

Ray Osmond finished chewing a mouthful of meat, tougher than he liked but it was hard to turn down a free meal. The table was lit by candlelight and he wondered if this was more for atmosphere or the desire to minimize the use of electricity. As the Adamses’ lawyer and friend of the family through his father, it was his duty to be here. Fresh out of law school and eager to take up the firm from his ailing father, he had readily agreed to attend, although he found himself looking more at Ms. Laurent, radiant in the flickering illumination, rather than the gloomy pall that shrouded everything else about this affair.

Everett Mills rounded out the table. Unlike the rest of the party, he seemed to feed on the malaise. His fashionably cut suit contrasted heavily with the faded modes of years past that surrounded him. He was like the fox let loose in the henhouse and, finding all the prey unappealing, stank up the place with odious superiority. He had Robert Eldridge Adams right where he wanted him and if that wet behind the ears whelp that was passing for an attorney got in the way, he’d have him before the bar the next day and drummed out on his ears.

In contrast, Robert Adams sat at his customary place at the head of the table, radiating grim authority. He was at the brink of the point where his company and his future were poised on the brink and he knew it. It was not the first time he had been forced into making a hard decision and he was prepared to make another. He quickly glanced over at Frank and his wife, finding pity that such a good man was forced to act against his own friend even if it was just business. Young Ray was almost the spitting image of his father and, even though he wished for the wisdom of the elder Osmond, he had to place confidence in his son to carry on the family’s distinguished history of service to his family.

He had sacrificed much in the past years, slowly bleeding away wealth and treasures to maintain his home. There was little left but his greatest treasure, The Blue Diamond, acquired after the Great War and shipped with no small expense from France. If it meant that it too must go, so be it. He’d be damned if Mills was going to gain controlling interest and make his own friend oust him. Between Osmond and himself, he’d see that didn’t happen.



Mrs. Adams trudged wearily up the staircase to her room, Elle supporting her through a comforting grasp at her elbow. Why must things be so hard? Their fortunes were on the wane but the specter of bankruptcy hung over the house like a lean vulture waiting on its prey to die. Their servants had been leaving for years, loyalty discarded in favor of better money. Outside of their elderly housekeeper, Ms. Laurent was the only one left. Her gratitude of having a job when nobody else would hire her meant she would probably stay for a little while longer. She was competent. If she wasn’t seeing such a rough gentleman who treated her poorly, Mrs. Adams might even think more favorably of her. Mrs. Adams had heard Ms. Laurent complaining loudly to the housekeeper about him and, even if she hadn’t been the nosy sort, she couldn’t fail to overhear her having to yell for the old woman to hear.

Nothing had been accomplished over dinner. She hadn’t expected it to be but one could always hope. Her husband was just as stubborn and intractable as Mr. Mills when his mind was made up. At least Mr. Osmond had a cooler head and had finally suggested to everyone involved that approaching the matter tomorrow would be a good idea and allow everyone to think things over. They had plenty of rooms to spare and the group had parted in silence to go their own ways for the evening.



The tiny flame on the meager candle did little to light the darkened room but it was enough for the black figure that prowled the study. The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed eleven but the skulker paid it no heed. The limited light stole over dusty leather-bound volumes and old but polished wooden furniture until it reflected dully off the iron safe in the corner. Adams was a traditionalist and it was a good thing. A more modern safe might have posed a problem. As it was, it took the burglar almost five minutes to crack the antiquated strongbox.

Papers and even a sizable bundle of money were passed by on the way to the small faded leather box at the back. An icy blue gleam, unrestrained by the feeble illumination invoked an involuntary gasp. This was it. This was his heritage to be passed down and it would not lie unloved in the back of a metal tomb.

It went reverently into a pocket before the thief flicked a calling card into the safe and pulled out a length of rope and handkerchief from a satchel. Now it was time for the second part of the plan…



UXAM
The call of robbery and kidnapping came over the station’s police radio just as he was getting off work. The newsmen bum-rushed the set followed by a crowd of idle actors and workers. Nobody noticed David Clark dash out the back door. The shadows swallowed the radio announcer only to release Midnight, eerie friend of the needy!

In short order, his dark sedan was roaring out of the city towards the bay. The steady throaty hum of the engine contrasting his scattered thoughts. The boys in blue would be there before him but he always worked best once they had gone. For San Francisco’s finest, they certainly seemed to overlook a lot of things. He imagined that they were just as confused as he was though. He could understand the robbery. After all, The Blue Diamond was well-known and worth a pretty penny. The kidnapping was odd though. Why take away the secretary? If a thief got in and was determined to take someone, you’d think they’d take someone worth demanding a ransom over. Either she interrupted them or she was in on it. Midnight’s stomach churned uncomfortably at making guesses that hinged on someone who couldn’t be questioned.

After a lengthy drive, he killed the engine and coasted to a spot near the old Adams place behind a feral topiary. It didn’t take a smart crimefighter to figure out how they had gotten in. A second-story window was broken out. The shattered glass glinted dully in the moonlight as an errant lace drape fluttered against the night wind. The old iron fence that was more rust than iron was easily vaulted and the cop left behind was just as easily avoided, his mind likely more occupied with dreams of doughnuts rather than his job.

The heavily overgrown trellis provided for easy access to the roof, the faint disturbance of the ivy or the crunch of broken glass on the roof underneath his feet failing to alert anyone. He crept along hoping that the moon didn’t give him away before he gained the window. Just as he was getting near, a woman crossed in front of it, saw him with a start and opened her mouth to scream.

“Just ducky,” he groused.



Brannan Street
Patrolman Melvin Briggs had seen a lot of things over the years on the force. Most of them pretty mundane: the odd drunk, the panhandlers and the working girls. Every so often a body showed up so it was with no small measure of surprise that the bound and gagged woman hopping towards him out of an alleyway was a novelty.

“My name is Elle Laurent,” she gasped excitedly when he hurriedly pulled the tightly-wound bandana from her mouth, “I’ve been kidnapped!”



The Adams Mansion
Robert Adams sat at his desk in the cold study. His face a shattered portrait of despair reflected back at him in the faceted whiskey decanter. The final nail had been struck. His last grasp at staving off Mills even if for a little longer was now lost to him. He was not a man known for weakness but the game had been played, all available avenues for stalemate had been examined and were found wanting. He was ruined.

His trembling hands poured another shot. He had lost track of how many drinks he had already downed. As the world blurred, his liquid courage rose. He’d be damned if that bastard Mills was going to see him grovel! He’d end it first! Right here! In his room! Better to do it now than to see his ancestral home auctioned off like the rest of his former finery! His trembling hands yanked open the drawer where he kept the pistol…

It was gone.



Midnight moved with speed and decision. Mrs. Adams fell back away from the window with a smothered cry as she stared in dumb bewilderment at the large suction cup that had firmly attached itself to her mouth. The masked man scrambled inside the house after her as she bit back her indignity and scurried away from the advancing figure.

“I mean you no harm, Tallulah Adams,” he intoned in his radio voice, “but I could not have you alert the police.”

Mrs. Adams’ eyes widened at the imposing figure silhouetted against the moon through the window as the man idly wound the thin rope connected to her gag around his gloved hand. Thoughts raced through her mind. Was he going to kill her? Was this another robbery? Was he going to tie her up and have his way with her? Her heart beat faster. She tried to speak but only succeeded in a muffled whimper.

“I will remove that if you will not scream,” he continued with his tough guy act. “I am here to help you get your diamond back. Shake your head ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”

Fifteen minutes later Midnight departed leaving a breathless Tallulah with enough material for dinner party stories and dreams to last the rest of her life. He had gotten everything she knew. The report of Elle Laurent’s reappearance over the police shortwave set, once back in his car, gave him even more. He needed to speak to Ms. Laurent. Only she knew where her gentleman friend, Stephen Ricco, could be found. And where he was, would be The Blue Diamond.



Sloat Boulevard
Elle Laurent crouched deeper into her overcoat. The police had been both infuriating and gracious at the same time. After hours of the same questions asked different ways and getting the same answers, they had offered to drive her back home. She wanted nothing more to do with them and politely declined. A bus from the precinct would be fine even if the fare would cut into her meager monthly expenses.

"Excuse me, Ms. Laurent? Mrs. Adams asked for me to drive you home."

The thickly-accented voice behind her startled her out of her contemplations of the situation and she turned to see a mustachioed man leaning out of the driver's side window of a dark sedan. She hadn't even heard the car pull up! Alone in a strange city and not paying attention! She mentally kicked herself.

"Do I know you?" she asked, shrinking back from the curb.

"I doubt it, miss. I was the chauffeur years before your time."

"Well..." Elle appeared uncertain and, not seeing the man make any move, opened the back door. "Alright."

They drove in silence. Midnight's face itching under the disguise and Elle absorbed in the scenery that scrolled by her window. He slowly reached up, removed the mustache and put his mask on as they passed under a particularly dark tunnel. It had only made sense that the police would take her to the nearest precinct and he’d only had to wait outside for her to be released.

"Excuse me, monsieur?" she called out softly from behind him.

He slowed down and turned around to face her; might as well question her here and now rather than wait anyway.

The cold steel barrel of a double-barreled derringer pressed between his eyes as a stern Elle cocked the hammer back with a snap that sounded like a gunshot itself through the cab.

"That was ze worst fake mustache I have ever seen, and chauffeurs open the door for passengers."



The Adams Mansion
Everett Mills paced his room like a caged tiger. How could things go so wrong and yet so right at the same time? He finally had old man Adams where he wanted him. With the theft of the diamond, he could speed up getting the sale but there was the matter of the missing secretary. Even though he had no part in it, he never expected someone like her to have the sand. It did, however, add in an unwelcome complication. If she was caught, it would put things back to where they were before. The rock was the old geezer’s trump card. It was up to him to see that it never came to the table.

He picked up the phone and dialed for the police precinct. “Sgt. Morris, please.” Thank God for dirty cops. His thanks were replaced by swearing a few minutes later when he learned that she had already been released but one of his boys had seen her picked up in a dark sedan, license plate number 31-377.

He hung up and then dialed another number. “Spread the word, Lou, five hundred bucks to the guy that brings me this Elle Laurent dame.” He finished with a description of her and the car she had been seen in. All he could do now was wait and hope.

Damn shame that such a pretty girl was going to end up in the harbor. With any luck, she’d have the diamond on her. Even if this got in the way of getting his foot in some legitimate business, that lump of ice would be worth a small fortune!



"Ms. Laurent..." Midnight started, trying to ignore the gun pressing into his face.

"Don't!" she cut him off sharply. "You will explain yourself, monsieur, or I will blow your brains out."

"I wouldn’t advise that as I’m driving, but I'm here to find the diamond for the Adamses and to do that I need to find Ricco and bring him to justice."

Understanding seemed to come into her eyes and she relaxed her grip if not her aim. "I've already told the police everything I know. I was ze fool for loving such a… a… such a dog! He and his friends broke into my room and made me show him where ze safe was. They tied me up and tossed me out of ze car when we were far from home." Her eyes flashed with anger at the recollection of the indignities.

Midnight opened his mouth to speak but the barrel uncomfortably pressed against him again.

"I've heard of you… ‘mystery men’," she said. "Why should I trust you who hide behind a mask like ze common thief?"

"Because I'm the only hope you've got, Ms. Laurent. The police are too bogged down in procedure and, if you don't clear your name and make things right, you'll be out of a job and possibly arrested as an accomplice."

He watched as the color faded from her face and took the chance to gently push the gun away from his own. "Do you have any idea where he might have gone?"

Her voice cracked. "Non! None!"

"Think hard," he pressed.

"Johnny's." Her eyes widened as her thoughts became focused.



Johnny’s Bar & Grill
Midnight had seen his share of the underbelly of seedy bars in his short time fighting the good fight. The smell of stale cigarettes, sweat and cheap beer was about as pleasant as a slap to the face first thing in the morning. The clientele, if you could use so polite a phrase in relation, were the dregs of the dregs of society. He personally recognized at least three wanted hoods and they obviously recognized him. It probably wasn’t the wisest move to just walk in but he never was the subtle type. Damn the torpedoes. Full speed ahead.

Elle slunk in behind him, clutching her purse protectively. Midnight hoped that she wouldn’t panic and start waving around that popgun. Things were tense enough in here already.

The once-raucous room went silent.

“I’m not looking for trouble… just Stephen Ricco,” he said, body rigid with his fists balled up at his sides.

“Wh-” somebody began to speak but was cut off by Elle’s squeal of panic behind him.

Midnight whirled around and saw her in the lap of one of the rougher looking men in the bar. He gritted his teeth as the ruffian looked up in surprise and quickly said, “Look, Mac, I di-”

“No fighting!” the bartender said hastily for all the good it was going to do.

Elle quickly squirmed away as Midnight’s right hook sent the man toppling out of his chair. A chorus of outraged cries and chairs being pushed back rang through the room. Oh, you’ve stepped in it now, Dave. He quickly spun to the side to avoid the bullish tackle by a man who went skidding across the floor with a loud “oof.” He ducked a drunken swing and powered his fist into the guy’s stomach, doubling him over. A tingle rippled through his forearm as he blocked a punch. Another grazed his ear, knocking his fedora off. There were too many of them. There was a smashing sound nearby as someone broke a bottle. This wasn’t a fair fight. This isn’t a boxing ring his mind reminded him.

He popped another guy on the chin and he went down without a sound. Another blow to his arm, one to his chest. It hurt. He punched another guy in the nose and he staggered away from the fight gripping his bleeding schnoz. Stay in front of Elle he kept reminding himself. You take the beating.

A chair hurtled out of the crowd. He didn’t duck. I hope she appreciates this he thought before the old wooden chair broke against his head. Midnight gritted his teeth and backhanded a swarthy villain who went flying back into his friends. He could already feel the warmth start to trickle down his forehead. Don’t let it get into your eyes!

Midnight screamed in anger and he saw several of his attackers flinch. It wasn’t much but he needed to end this quickly before he couldn’t see. He stepped into them, swinging wildly, fists finding wherever they could to hit. He gave as good as he got but it was apparent even to him that he was fighting a losing battle. For every guy he put down, another fresh fighter would jump into the fray.

He couldn’t feel his face anymore unless you wanted to count the giant swell that was wearing his nose. His arms were numb and getting heavier by the minute. His blue jacket hung in shreds and his shirt wasn’t faring much better. His favorite hat had surely been trampled to death by now. “Run!” he mumbled at Elle through busted lips.

A lucky punch hit him upside the head and spun him around, dazed. Like vultures spotting the easy meal, he was set upon mercilessly. He threw his arms up trying to protect his face but some got through anyway. His chest and stomach took the brunt of their anger, leaving him unsteady and wobbly on his feet. He couldn’t see out of his left eye, feeling the blood streaming down his cheek.

A gunshot rang out.

“Get away!” Elle yelled, stepping up to his side and waving the gun from her purse around the crowd.

By this point, the fight, if not the anger, had gone out of everyone involved. The presence of a gun in a fistfight was merely the capper. Elle draped his arm over her shoulder and slowly began backing towards the door while everyone else made plans to nurse their injuries in the nearest bottle or helped their fallen buddies off the floor. Elle was a little surprised that she hadn’t heard the sounds of sirens yet. Perhaps there just might be places so bad that even the American police didn’t want to come.



San Francisco Police Department, Central Station
Detective Wendell Horton frowned over the report that had been dumped on his desk. It was too damned early in the morning for this. He had read the report once and skimmed it a few more times. Far more interesting were the calling card and the photographs. The papers were going to have a field day if someone leaked any of this. Even the greenest cub reporter wouldn’t miss such a thing. Who the hell were they hiring nowadays? God help him he was going to find the idiot who handled the crime scene and put his ass in a sling. He slapped the photos down on the desk with a frustrated growl and fished for a fresh smoke from his jacket pocket.

He idly picked up the calling card with the flowery handwriting that said “you’ve been robbed by Arséne Lupin.” It was ridiculous of course, Lupin hadn’t been seen for over ten years now and rarely in America but he had placed a call to Interpol anyway. This had to be some kind of copycat crime. Lupin had already stolen the diamond once before already. Why steal it back when it was obviously sold off the first time?

He looked again at the paperwork. They had interviewed everyone in the house. Mrs. Adams had given them the name “Stephen Ricco” as a possible culprit but, if so, the man didn’t have any criminal record. It could be an alias but, if so, it was a new one.

He snatched up the telephone and cursed as his match broke before he could strike it. This was going to be one hell of a day.

“Sergeant Morris? Get me the Chief…” He glanced at the photos again.

Broken glass on the outside of the window. Christ.



Midnight woke up in the passenger side of his car and he could see the hazy outline of the day beginning. The dawn framed Elle as she swabbed his face. The smell and astringent sting helped slowly bring him to awareness. She had obviously found the medicine kit in the glove compartment. She pushed him back against the seat when he tried to move.

“Why did you do that?” she asked.

“Huh?” It would not, he later reflected, be his most sterling moment.

“You could have gotten out of the way of ze chair,” she said. She leaned forward and Midnight became aware of just how small the front seat of his car was.

“It would have hit you,” he said.

He saw her eyes soften and she pursed her lips. “Gallantry is dead… but thank you.”

Midnight smiled and grimaced, damn even that hurt. “Whaddaya mean? My suit of armor is just at the dry cleaners.”

She smiled and he discovered that he liked the twinkle in her eyes. “That’s very sweet. You remind me of my father.”

Elle laughed at the disappointment that spread across his face. “Silly boy, I meant that my father was brave and honorable also. He was a great man.” She sighed.

“What happened to him?” Midnight asked quietly, noticing her use of “was.” She settled back down comfortably close into the seat and lapsed into silence for a few minutes before speaking.

“I don’t know,” she said, eyes downcast. “My father was always impulsive and he could never stay in one place for very long. My mother, Clotilde, gave her heart to him. It was a foolish thing to do… After she gave birth to me, we were happy for some time but it never…” She broke off and wrung her hands in agitation. “One day he just left. My mother avoided ze scandal by claiming he was away on a long trip.”

“Daddy’s girl,” he said with another painful grin.

“Why do you say that?” she said in surprise.

“Because most daughters would hold a grudge against a father who walked out on them.”

“I guess I’m what you would call ze tomboy?” she said.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Midnight said, quickly glancing at the shapely legs poking out from the form-fitting skirt.

She smiled sadly. “We were close. He taught me many unladylike things my mother never approved of. I’m sure that he never meant to hurt us. I’m sure he meant to return but…” she half-heartedly shook her head as if trying to convince herself.

Midnight had turned himself to look out of the window so not to intrude on her uncomfortable moment but the gentle touch on his cheek turned him back and unexpectedly into her kiss. She sighed contently as their lips met. And met again.

The shortwave radio in the car came to life after a few blissful moments and interjected real life into what was otherwise a fine end to the day. “Attention! Attention all cars. Be on the lookout for Elle Laurent for the theft of The Blue Diamond. Female. Brown hair. Blue eyes. Approximately five foot eight inches. Weight: 120 pounds. She is to be considered armed and dangerous. Approach with caution.”

“Putain!” she swore regretfully against him and Midnight felt the familiar pressure of a gun nestle itself under his jaw.

“I’m very sorry,” she murmured sadly, “but I’ve got a ship to catch.”



Munsford Griggs was a gorilla of the first order. He had worked his way up from juvenile petty theft and minor extortion of lunch money to big league legbreaking, a job that suited his physique and temperment just fine. The word had gotten out from Slick Louie that there was a broad that was worth five hundred simoleons. For that kind of lettuce, he didn’t care what they wanted her for and luck was with him when he saw a woman matching her description hanging all over a guy in the front seat of a parked car.

Griggs cracked his ham-sized fists in anticipation but patted down his seedy jacket to make sure that his gat was still there. He could handle a skirt but you never knew when there was another joe involved that might need heavier persuading. He walked over to the car, grinning when they took no notice of him.

He had just grabbed the door handle when there was a loud bang and the car window in front of him shattered.



Midnight tensed at the touch of the gun as it gently trailed along his neck before exploding violently beside his ear. He barely heard the window blow out and the yelp of surprise from outside over the cathedral bells going off in his ears.

“Drive!” Elle screamed at him and, even though he didn’t hear her, the panicked expression on her face was enough. He stomped on the gas as the car lept forward under the surge of power.

A glance in the rear view mirror revealed a real ox of a man yanking a screaming woman out of another car at gunpoint and jumping in. Midnight was pretty sure that being shot at was not going to put them on his Christmas card list. The back window shattering under the impact of a slug confirmed it. At least his hearing was coming back. Now he could hear the bullet that had his name on it. Things just kept on getting better and better.

“Elle…” he started.

“It’s Faustine,” she grabbed his arm as he sharply took a turn.

Hell of a time to start telling the truth now. “You’re empty aren’t you?”

“How...?”

There was a loud “pang” as a slug buried itself into the steel body of the car.

“I’ve been counting,” he said grimly as she dropped the empty derringer onto the floor. “Why’d you do it, El… Dammit! Why’d you do it?”

“I did it because I want to be like my father!” she shot back, her eyes flashing. “Do you know what it’s like to live a lie? To pretend to be something you’re not? Do you? What do I have to look forward to in life as a woman? A secretary job where I’ll eventually marry and have kids?! I took it because my father did. If he could, so can I. It was never about ze damn diamond!” Her voice turned pleading. “I want to be who I want to be!”

Midnight stared at her in silence, her hair billowing about her face in the wind, lips pouted. God, she was beautiful right now. He laughed in spite of himself

“What’s so funny?” she shot back, her anger bubbling back to the surface again.

There was the crack of another shot behind them but it didn’t hit anything.

“I believe you,” he answered back. “Now what are we going to do about tall, dark and gruesome back there?”

“We give him ze right of way. Hold on!” she yelled and yanked the hand brake as the speeding car’s tires squealed in protest before the pursuing car plowed into them and crumpled their backend, sending the car lurching sideways in the middle of the street. They were tossed about but nothing serious… not like the mug who had been chasing them. “Don’t look back,” Midnight cautioned her, stealing a glimpse at the bloody broken windscreen of the other vehicle.



His luck ran true. The car was done for. It wouldn’t start so they started to hoof it for the docks against his better judgment. She was a thief. He caught those, didn’t he? Why was he helping her?

As the sun burned away the last vestages of the night, Midnight reluctantly took off his mask. It wouldn’t do to be see in the daylight and the last thing he wanted to do right now was to draw attention. Faustine made no comment but linked her arm through his and they looked like a very normal but bedraggled couple out for a walk.

“Faustine, you know I can’t let you leave with the diamond,” he finally spoke what he was thinking.

“I know,” she replied softly. “You will have it once I’m onboard.”

“You know I could just arrest you now,” he ventured.

“I know,” she said again, “But you won’t.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because,” she leaned against his shoulder and said softly, “you can’t cage a free bird. This?” she turned and stroked his face, “This is what you can never be, ze normal man, going about your daily job. The mask you wear is ze real you, ze other the sham. You live life like it should, ze libertine – to the fullest, no regrets. No apologies. Just like me.”

They walked in silence, each mulling over the events of the last day until they got to the docks. The masked vigilante realizing that she was right; he couldn’t arrest her without destroying what made her beautiful and the daughter of the world’s greatest thief, not wanting to let him go, even though she must.



The horn blew shrilly on the S.S. Stockholm but Faustine hesitated. “You could come with me,” she said desperately.

“Or you could come with me,” a raspy, menacing voice broke in. They turned to see the ruined face of the man who had been chasing them in the car. The gun unwavering in his blood-smeared hand as it covered both of them.

“How the h-” Midnight began to blurt but Faustine moved too fast for him to finish, her leg shot out and kicked the gun from the big man’s hand as he stood stupidly before her other leg landed upside his temple, sending him crashing down to the ground.

Faustine stared ruefully at her ripped skirt. “Savate,” she offered by way of an explanation. “Very unladylike… and you owe me a dress.”

“You owe me a hat.”

And she was in his arms, the kiss passionate as he felt a hard lump being pressed into his hands as her body trembled against his. “Au revoir,” she said quickly and broke away to go up the gangway.

Midnight stared at her retreating onto the ship, the diamond forgotten in his hands as the ship pulled away from the pier as the first faint sounds of sirens broke the morning air.

Watching the tattered and battered figure grow smaller in her watery eyes, Faustine pulled a blue icy gem from her purse before letting it drop to the deck and grinding the fake back to paste under her heel.

“L'on est bien faible quand on est amoureux” the older man said as he came up behind her.

“But ze grandest weakness, father.”


The End


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