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The Steel Hammer: A Doc Savage Story by Dave Taggart Chaper 13: Under the Hammer Doc Savage moved quickly to the plane’s cockpit. “Johnny, we’re approaching Toledo. I want you to activate the homing tracer on Renny’s shoe.”“Will do, Doc.” “Circle over it. I’m going to bail out. Land the plane, get a car, and I’ll meet you there on the ground.” “I’m bailing out with you, Doc!” cried Monk, who was ready for a fight. “No. You’re flying this plane to Detroit as soon as you let Johnny, Long Tom, and the girl off in Toledo.” “But Doc---” “Work with the Detroit authorities. Assume an attack is planned in the financial district near the waterfront, somewhere near Cass Avenue. Sweep through and guard every park and vacant lot within a five mile radius,” Doc ordered. “Guarding parks and vacant lots?” Monk queried. “What gives, Doc?” But Doc was already moving away to the radio room. Monk turned to Long Tom. “Can you figure it?” “Five miles is about the maximum effective range of a mortar shell?” replied Long Tom. “If you can get all the firing positions covered, you may be able to catch them trying to deploy the mortars and stop a poison gas attack.” “Yeah, I got it,” squealed Monk. “Hey Doc ---” But he was addressing the planes open door. Doc Savage had leapt out into the inky black of night. “GET UP, you muggs,” Seven-Eleven McSwain growled. Slowly, the five thugs Renny had put down struggled to their feet. “Who was that guy?” One of them lisped, as he spit out a tooth. Another rolled over Renny’s unconscious form. The streetlight shown down on Renny’s features, made up to look like Blackie White. “Kee-ripes! We got the boss!” the man exclaimed. “We got a spy,” corrected McSwain. “Blackie White should be in the hideout up in Michigan right now. There’s no reason for him to have come to Toledo, and even if he had, he wouldn’t have us here, not the way ‘Wheels’ drives.” He thumped the biggest of his henchmen on the arm. “So when I walk up to the garage, and they boys out front tell me that Blackie White is inside, I knew that it had to be a set-up. I had you boys wait for me out back here, and all I had to do was get the guy to come out into the alley.” “Pretty clever, Seven-Eleven,” mumbled Wheels. “Yeah, I even amaze myself sometimes,” McSwain stated with proud self-admiration. “Now let’s get this guy in the car.” “Where we headed?” came a question. “We’re going to make him a present,” said McSwain. “The guy wants to dress up like Blackie White -- why, I say we give him to Blackie White! Let Blackie figure it all out.” There was general chuckling approval to this suggestion. Two of the men grabbed Renny’s feet, and they began dragging him down the alley, none too gently. “Get your hands in the air or I’ll blow your heads off!” came a loud, unmistakably female voice. Sally Morgan had not waited inside. SEVEN-ELEVEN MCSWAIN responded by drawing his twin six shooters and blasting away into the darkness. In response came the roar of an automatic weapon, resembling the sound of a huge bullfiddle. One of McSwain’s henchmen went down, and the rest scurried for cover. “Let’s scram,” suggested the big, burly Wheels. “Yeah, we’re scrammin’,” agreed Seven-Eleven quickly. “Rocko, Nails, lay down some covering fire while we get these guys to the car.” Lead flew in both directions. Determined not to be cut out of the action, Sally had followed Renny into the alley. While she’d been in Renny’s plane, Sally had appropriated one of Doc’s super-firers, and concealed it in her purse. Unfamiliar with the weapon, she was not very accurate, but she laid down a huge volume of fire, and McSwain’s henchmen were glad to pile into their big touring car and quickly leave the scene, to the sound of squealing tires. “Did we get everybody?” Blackie demanded as they sped through the streets of Toledo. “Do we got the fake Blackie back there?” “Got him,” came the reply. “How about Leon? Wasn’t that him that got hit back there?” “We got him too, Seven-Eleven.” “Good,” McSwain said with satisfaction. He hadn’t wanted to leave anyone behind to become prisoners, who might be interrogated. Then, thinking his men might not understand his attitude, he added, with feigned concern, “Is Leon hit bad? “I can’t even see where he was hit,” replied Nails. “Huh?” “I mean there’s not a mark on him. Nothing. But he’s just sleeping like a baby.” “Sleeping?” “Yeah... Like he’s been knocked out instead of shot. Like he’d been ...” All at once, everyone in the car said it out loud. “Doc Savage!” “Yeah!” yelled McSwain with glee. “The Savage guy uses knock-out bullets instead of regular slugs.” “I don’t like the idea of Doc Savage being on our tails,” Nail said. “Don’t sweat it,” said McSwain. “Don’t sweat it? With Doc Savage out there?” “Ya moron, Doc Savage ain’t out there,” said Seven-Eleven. “Whatta ya mean, he ain’t out there? How do you know?” argued Nails. McSwain turned in the front seat of the car. “Think about it, stupid. Doc Savage is a great big tough guy. He’s a master of disguise. Think what we got.” He pointed at Renny’s unconscious form on the floor of the car. “Doc Savage ain’t ‘out there’. He’s right here. “Don’tcha understand, ya muggs? We’ve captured Doc Savage!” A STRAY shot in the gunfight behind the Elite Auto Garage had creased Sally Morgan’s arm. The sounds of the gunfight had attracted the Toledo police. They were debating rather to take her to the hospital for stitches, or to take her to the police station for questioning. Sally’s side of the debate consisted of advising them to go jump in the lake. That was the situation when the taxi cab pulled up with Johnny, Long Tom, and Margaret Adams in it. “Are we going to be jake with the local law?” Long Tom asked Johnny as they got out of the cab. “Indubitably,” Johnny replied. He searched through his wallet and pulled out a credential card showing an honorary commission in the Ohio State Police. Doc and his men habitually carried such identification, given to them for their many past efforts in helping law enforcement agencies. “That’s got to be Sally Morgan,” Long Tom said, indicating the blonde reporter. “Yes, such pandemonium could only be causated by that illustrious member of the fifth estate,” pronounced Johnny. “What did he say?” asked Margaret Adams. “I’m not quite sure,” said Long Tom, “but dollars to doughnuts, that’s the other girl with a missing brother. Now let me get over there before Johnny hopelessly confuses the cops.” THR TOLEDO police were only too happy to turn over custody of the combative newshen to Doc Savage’s aides. Sally Morgan was less impressed. “So where’s the big bronze guy himself?” she asked. “He isn’t here?” replied Margaret Adams. Sally considered the small brunette. “Littlejohn and Roberts I recognize, but how do you fit into all this, little sister?” “I’m looking for my brother. He’s ---” “Listen,” interrupted Long Tom, “we’ll play twenty questions later on. Right now, we’re looking for Renny and Doc.” “You don’t know where they are?” Sally shot back. “Perhaps you would enlighten us by recounting recent occurrences in these environs,” Johnny said. “Nothing like a big vocabulary to attract a woman,” said Sally sharply, But then she quickly told of Renny’s disguise as Blackie White, the arrival of Seven-Eleven McSwain, and the subsequent kidnapping of Renny. “Doc Savage never showed up all,” she concluded. As she finished, Long Tom pulled a small device from his jacket pocket. It was a miniature radio direction finder. He tuned in to the frequency of the small transmitter that was hidden in Renny’s shoe. “This is crazy,” he said. “Explain.” said Johnny. “According to this, Renny hasn’t gone anywhere. He’s right here in this alley!” “That is crazy,” agreed Sally Morgan. “I saw McSwain and his thugs haul him off.” “Let me recalibrate,” Long Tom said. The device again indicated that Renny was not more than fifty feet away from them. “That’s so spooky,” said Margaret Adams. “There’s got to be a rational explanation,” said Long Tom. It only took them five minutes to find it. The violence of Renny’s fight against seven-to-one odds had separated him from a good part of his clothing. His jacket was in the alley, in three pieces. So was the left sleeve from his shirt. And so was the shoe with the radio homing transmitter in it. Renny was truly gone!
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