The Dream of Gentleman JohnnyA White Owl Adventure...The state penitentiary in Queen City was old, but strong. No one had ever escaped its walls; except through death, or dreams. The prison was filled with men of all types, the rich and the poor, the strong and the weak. In here nothing mattered except survival; survival until your parole hearing, or until your time was done.One such prisoner was numbered 46112. His name had been Jonathan Foster, but everyone inside and out knew him as Gentleman Johnny. Four years ago, his home had been ransacked and he'd collected several millions of dollars in insurance money for his missing jewelry, art and expensive furnishings.Except a new avenger in Queen City had seen through his plot. And with dogged determination, White Owl had seen justice done, arresting him. It was a case that had helped seal her reputation as a defender of justice. And Gentleman Johnny had gone to prison; forgotten by all his family and friends.Johnny had not forgotten the luxury in which he had lived, however. Not even prison could do that. He stretched, as smiled as the guard entered his cell with deference. “Excuse me Mr Foster, but would you be wanting your morning coffee and the newspaper now?”“I will Price, it will soothe my nerves.” Foster sat up in bed and allowed Price to fluff his pillows before settling back with a steaming cup of Colombian Supreme. Foster studied the financial pages, then the sports. “I see the Gems dropped another one,” he said.Price gently cleared his throat. “Excuse me sir, but the maid wanted to know if she should tidy up in here soon. And the chauffeur wondered if you'd be needing the car this afternoon.”Foster threw the paper on the bed, indignantly. “I don't have the strength to deal with these questions now Price,” he said. “Ask me after two, when I'm well rested!” With that Gentleman Johnny turned his back on the obliging guard. He almost didn't hear the soft rush of the sueded white boots on the floor of his cell. But a pair of delicate, yet powerful hands dragged Foster from the bed.“Get up, rest is for those who have earned it.” Foster knew that voice. It had hounded him until his arrest, spoken against him in court and was the voice of condemnation.“White Owl! Leave me alone!” he howled.“Where do you think you are? An exclusive resort?” The voice was louder, and a gloved fist cracked Gentleman Johnny on the jaw. “Now get up, you have a debt to pay.”Johnny opened his eyes, and instead of the luxurious surroundings, he saw the stark walls of the 6x8 cell he inhabited. And instead of White Owl, he saw Price; no longer obliging.“What's the matter, 46112? Are you trying to pretend you didn't hear the alarm bell again? Get up for roll call and work.“NO White Owl, don't hit me!” said Johnny, then realized who he was talking to. “You'll WISH I was White Owl if you don't get outta that bed NOW!” shouted Price. Foster scrambled to his feet.“Yessir, yessir...”As the work crew marched to the prison gates, Foster's mind stayed focused on his dream. “It was such a lovely dream.” But the harsh realities of the work detail kept him from dwelling on it. But as the day ended, and the inmates reassembled to return to prison, Johnny Foster made a vow.“There's only two things I want out of life,” he said to himself. “To live my dream and to get even with that bitch! And with my brains, and the money I inherited, I can make it come true.”From that day on, one thought alone kept Gentleman Johnny in line. His every waking moment was filled with his dream. “I'll live in a vast suite of cells; but I'll be able to come and go as I please. I'll have guards as my servants. And White Owl...She'll be suffering in solitary on Death Row! And she'll die very VERY slowly.”And with this maniacal thought, Gentleman John Foster prepared for a life outside of prison. It was a madman's dream, but fueled by money and ambition, and without any call of conscience or fairness, it took shape quickly.After the course of a year, Gentleman Johnny was released from prison, his time served. He moved back into his newly renovated mansion, complete with walls of stone and bars in place of doors. His newly hired staff was attired in prison guard uniforms and Gentleman Johnny had a supply of silk jumpsuits in prison orange. Johnny was as happy as he could be.“No one has ever had as much luxury while behind bars as I have,” he told himself. “But I'm lacking one thing. I need to complete the dream. And before the week is over, I'll have my revenge on White Owl.”The Queen City Examiner is an old newspaper, but adapting quickly to stay ahead of new technologies. And one of those is a blind e-mail address for White Owl. People can email problems, reports on criminal activities and requests for help to me. If the issue is something I can handle without disturbing police investigations, then I try to follow up.As one can imagine, a lot of what filters through this system are requests for personal appearances, photographs, and requests from would-be suitors. But every so often I'll find a gem in the system. I was in my apartment near Victory Park one afternoon reading the e-mail, when I found one that piqued my interest.“White Owl; Years ago you sent me to prison. I've been reformed and would like to thank you personally. Would you do me the honor? I want to keep my identity secret, but if you agree, then you can meet my messenger, a prison guard, at Fourth and Elm at midnight.”Obviously, I was curious. And I was also certain it was a trap. Still, I was certain I could handle anything that would come my way.As midnight drew near, I slipped into my high necked leotard, and stepped onto the balcony. I leaped into the night, flying toward the downtown. Below me, I didn't see the large SUV that my tenant and sometimes partner Tiffany drove. But she saw me flying out. “Hmm I wonder where White Owl's going?” she thought. She applied the brake and a few moments later, the Crimson Dynamo followed discretely behind. “It may be nothing,” Crimson thought, “ But if Owl needs backup, she's going to have it.”I scanned the corner from a safe rooftop and saw a nervous man in a guard's uniform staring intently at his watch. He shifted his feet continuously, looking around like someone was about to kill him. I didn't understand his nervousness, and I couldn't see anyone else at hand. I swooped up, then landed at Fourth and Elm, across from the bank and fountain.“I take it you're the guard I'm supposed to meet?” I asked innocently, tapping the guard on the shoulder. He nearly jumped out of his skin, then settled down. His face looked familiar, but I couldn't put a name to it—like when you see someone you know in a completely unfamiliar setting.“Wh..White Owl!” he said excitedly. “I...I didn't think you were going to show up. But I'm glad you did.”“I'm sure you are,” I replied. “So what's all the mystery?”“My boss wants to meet with you,” he replied.“The warden?” I asked.“No...no...its...well it strange to explain,” he said. “Maybe if you'd just follow me.”We walked west down Fourth, to the old manor section of the city, a distance of about five blocks. The guard stopped in front of one home with a high stone wall, and an iron gate.“This is it,” he announced, opening the gate. Just inside, two guard shacks flanked the short driveway, and behind it, a large three story home loomed over a small courtyard. In the moonlight, I could see the glint of bars against the windows.“Is this a prison?” I asked, astonished.“You might say that,” said my escort. “A private prison with a population of one.”I nodded and followed as another guard motioned us into the foyer of the house. The guard lead me up a flight of stairs and into a hallway filled with cells on either side. “Not so fast,” I said. “Tell me what's going on here.”“You...you'll have your answers in a moment,” he said. He opened a door to a cell block, and stepped back. I looked in and saw a large sitting room, with very plush accommodations. In a comfortable looking chair, I saw the inmate, dressed in a tailored jumpsuit, drinking a snifter of port and smoking a cigar. He looked up and smiled.“White Owl! I'm so glad you took me up on my offer,” he said with genuine enthusiasm.“Gentleman Johnny Foster,” I said. “I wasn't aware you liked prison so much you fixed your home up like one. This is really bizarre.”“Yeah,” he said, running a hand through his curly red hair and slipping me a sly smile. “In a way I have you to thank for it.”“Really?” I asked. “How so?”“Well, I never really appreciated the luxuries I took for granted, until you arrested me and I did four years. So I updated my surroundings. And you have to admit that these bars make everything else seem all the more luxurious by comparison.”“Well, it sounds strange, but I can also see the psychological reasons for it,” I admitted.“Of course its not completely like prison,” said Gentleman Johnny, stepping through the open door. “I can come and go as freely as I like. No locks on the cells, you see.”“I'm very impressed Foster,” I said, beaming. “And if you stay on the up and up, there won't be any reason for me to change them back to the steel ones.”“That's funny, White Owl,” said Foster. “Changing other peoples circumstances should be the least of your worries right now. Look behind you.” I whirled and saw that the guard who'd escorted me had been joined by three others. I suddenly remembered where I'd seen the first guard, but somehow it no longer seemed important. Guns cleared holsters, and I ducked, knowing they'd hold fire rather than shoot Johnny.“This is no deterrent Johnny, I've fought rats with guns before. “I leaped forward, tackling a guard; and with a strong right jab, I sent him to lullaby land. Two more pressed in at me, and I back flipped, kicking each of them in the jaw and smiling as they dropped unconscious to the floor.I was about to attack the fourth guard when I heard a whoosh, followed by a large WHACK! My vision blurred, and I felt my knees buckling. A second blow fell against the back of my skull and I dropped like a rag doll to the floor.“You mean you'll be taking a long nap. A permanent nap.” said Johnny.A few minutes later, I pressed my hand to my head and staggered to my feet. I was in a room covered in steel plate, with a heavy door, hinged on the outside in front of me. A thick plate of glass served as a porthole into the room. Looking up, I could see Gentleman Johnny leering at me through the glass. He held up my tool belt and I looked down to see my bared waist. Through a speaker, I heard him say, “Every prison has a Death Row White Owl. This is mine. You took me out of circulation for a long time, and this is payback.”I stood up, placing my hand on the door. “What are you talking about, Foster. Let me out of here!”Foster continued without missing a beat. “See those tubes, White Owl? In a minute, a slow, poison gas is going to come through there. The room will fill up, and you will die, a slow, agonizing death.”“The law will catch up with you Foster,” I said. “You'll answer for this eventually!”“Then I'll see you in hell, White Owl,” he laughed.An acrid scent tickled my nostrils as the first of the poison entered the chamber. I pounded on the door and walls with all my strength, but soon realized I was burning up whatever oxygen was left to me.“If I have to die, then I'm glad it was in battle against criminals,” I thought. “And I'm glad Crimson isn't here to share my grisly fate.”Upstairs, Gentleman Johnny slipped into his king sized bed and sighed. “With White Owl dying in the basement, I ought to sleep better than I ever have,” he said. His valet merely nodded.“You and the other boys watch the cell,” he said. “And when the end is close, get me. I want to see her turning blue, Gus” “Yes sir, Mr. Foster.”“Oh and Gus?”“Sir?”“Shut out my lights.”The room settled into darkness.The Crimson Dynamo stood patiently waiting as White Owl. “I still don't like this,” she said to herself, “But I'll give Owl fifteen minutes before going in after her.” But her patience ran thin, and Crimson used her jump boots to boost herself to the third floor, where she heard Johnny's grim words.“How odd,” she thought, “This place looks like a prison, but the bars are made out of rubber. She easily bent the bars and slipped into a hallway as darkness descended upon the manor. She crept stealthily through the dark house, looking for the stairs. One thought filled her mind. “He said White Owl was still alive. Hold on Athena, I'm coming for you.”She found the stair to the basement. Shooting a line into the wall across from middle stair, Crimson swung into the room. But her foot hit an aluminum beer can, alerting the guards to her presence.“Hey, its the Crimson Dynamo! Stop her!” Crimson bounced off the wall, executed a well timed cartwheel and came up punching at the fake guards. One of them had his club out and took a swing at Crimson. She ducked and came up with an elbow to his solar plexus. The guard OOOMMPHED, then dropped. But the other three guards dove as one, driving Crimson into a wall. She lay dazed an one guard sat on her legs, ready to punch the gallant heroine in the face. “I don't know how you found this place, but you're about to share your friend's fate.”Crimson lifted her arm, aiming blindly at the glass window. “Hope this works,” she muttered. The fist hammered home and she didn't see the result of her errant shot. But I did. The Flash Bang and phosphorus bombs hit at the same time, exploding and shattering the glass porthole to my gas chamber.I scrambled to my feet, and heaved myself through the glass. There was no time to grab my belt; the guard sitting on Tiffany's legs had her semi conscious and was feeling between her legs with his hairy paw. I drew a deep breath, forcing all the poison from my lungs. My healing factor was rapidly restoring my strength and with a rapid succession of lightning fast jabs, I soon had the fake guards unconscious on the floor.“Are you OK?” I asked Crimson, as she roused herself back to full alertness.“Are you out of your mind?” she asked. “You went off alone, to a home of a known felon. Were you TRYING to get yourself killed?”“I thought he'd reformed,” I began.“Criminals NEVER reform,” said Crimson, her gloved finger in my face, scolding.Chastened, we quickly bound the guards and dragged them out of the basement, away from the poison gas.Upstairs, Gentleman Johnny was waking up. “Ahhh What a nice sleep. Now I'm hungry.” He bellowed out, “Skinny, Gus! Bring me some breakfast”His guards stood looking at him, “Look at him, thinking he can order us around. He must be crazy.”“No no, stop talking like that—you work for me, remember?”“I think he needs some time in solitary, Gus, how about you?”The two guards grabbed Johnny and in no time at all, he found himself locked in a solitary cell. “You can't DO this to me. I'm the BOSS! I run this outfit!” He turned from the door and spotted White Owl! “You? But you're dead! I started the gas myself! I killed you!” He jumped and started.But the awakening was worse than the dream. Gentleman Johnny was back in his king-sized bed. “What a horrible dream,” he said. “But White Owl will never bother me again!”But in the darkness of the room, he saw two female figures, silhouetted in the moonlight.“No! It can't be YOU, you're DEAD!”Crimson looked at me and said, “You look pretty good for a corpse.”“Help! Skinny, Gus! Kill them!” shouted Foster.But there was no answer.“Oh that's right, they're handcuffed and unconscious downstairs,” I offered.Foster reached under his pillow and pulled out a lethal looking automatic. “You'll never take me alive!” he cliched.I looked at Crimson and curtsied. Foster's trembling hand kept moving the gun at her, then at me. Finally, Crimson put her gauntlet up and a flash bang exploded in Johnny's face. As he screamed in pain and surprise, I caught him on the aw with a right uppercut. The villain folded and went back to sleep.And so it was that an old customer was returned to the prison; and his dreams are still haunted by the Crimson Dynamo and White Owl.The end...Based on a story from Adventure Comics 492 (which in itself is a reprint) The original is by Simon and kirby--hey if you're going to swipe--swipe the best!
Friday, March 9, 2012
The Dream of Gentleman Johnny
The Dream of Gentleman JohnnyA White Owl Adventure...The state penitentiary in Queen City was old, but strong. No one had ever escaped its walls; except through death, or dreams. The prison was filled with men of all types, the rich and the poor, the strong and the weak. In here nothing mattered except survival; survival until your parole hearing, or until your time was done.One such prisoner was numbered 46112. His name had been Jonathan Foster, but everyone inside and out knew him as Gentleman Johnny. Four years ago, his home had been ransacked and he'd collected several millions of dollars in insurance money for his missing jewelry, art and expensive furnishings.Except a new avenger in Queen City had seen through his plot. And with dogged determination, White Owl had seen justice done, arresting him. It was a case that had helped seal her reputation as a defender of justice. And Gentleman Johnny had gone to prison; forgotten by all his family and friends.Johnny had not forgotten the luxury in which he had lived, however. Not even prison could do that. He stretched, as smiled as the guard entered his cell with deference. “Excuse me Mr Foster, but would you be wanting your morning coffee and the newspaper now?”“I will Price, it will soothe my nerves.” Foster sat up in bed and allowed Price to fluff his pillows before settling back with a steaming cup of Colombian Supreme. Foster studied the financial pages, then the sports. “I see the Gems dropped another one,” he said.Price gently cleared his throat. “Excuse me sir, but the maid wanted to know if she should tidy up in here soon. And the chauffeur wondered if you'd be needing the car this afternoon.”Foster threw the paper on the bed, indignantly. “I don't have the strength to deal with these questions now Price,” he said. “Ask me after two, when I'm well rested!” With that Gentleman Johnny turned his back on the obliging guard. He almost didn't hear the soft rush of the sueded white boots on the floor of his cell. But a pair of delicate, yet powerful hands dragged Foster from the bed.“Get up, rest is for those who have earned it.” Foster knew that voice. It had hounded him until his arrest, spoken against him in court and was the voice of condemnation.“White Owl! Leave me alone!” he howled.“Where do you think you are? An exclusive resort?” The voice was louder, and a gloved fist cracked Gentleman Johnny on the jaw. “Now get up, you have a debt to pay.”Johnny opened his eyes, and instead of the luxurious surroundings, he saw the stark walls of the 6x8 cell he inhabited. And instead of White Owl, he saw Price; no longer obliging.“What's the matter, 46112? Are you trying to pretend you didn't hear the alarm bell again? Get up for roll call and work.“NO White Owl, don't hit me!” said Johnny, then realized who he was talking to. “You'll WISH I was White Owl if you don't get outta that bed NOW!” shouted Price. Foster scrambled to his feet.“Yessir, yessir...”As the work crew marched to the prison gates, Foster's mind stayed focused on his dream. “It was such a lovely dream.” But the harsh realities of the work detail kept him from dwelling on it. But as the day ended, and the inmates reassembled to return to prison, Johnny Foster made a vow.“There's only two things I want out of life,” he said to himself. “To live my dream and to get even with that bitch! And with my brains, and the money I inherited, I can make it come true.”From that day on, one thought alone kept Gentleman Johnny in line. His every waking moment was filled with his dream. “I'll live in a vast suite of cells; but I'll be able to come and go as I please. I'll have guards as my servants. And White Owl...She'll be suffering in solitary on Death Row! And she'll die very VERY slowly.”And with this maniacal thought, Gentleman John Foster prepared for a life outside of prison. It was a madman's dream, but fueled by money and ambition, and without any call of conscience or fairness, it took shape quickly.After the course of a year, Gentleman Johnny was released from prison, his time served. He moved back into his newly renovated mansion, complete with walls of stone and bars in place of doors. His newly hired staff was attired in prison guard uniforms and Gentleman Johnny had a supply of silk jumpsuits in prison orange. Johnny was as happy as he could be.“No one has ever had as much luxury while behind bars as I have,” he told himself. “But I'm lacking one thing. I need to complete the dream. And before the week is over, I'll have my revenge on White Owl.”The Queen City Examiner is an old newspaper, but adapting quickly to stay ahead of new technologies. And one of those is a blind e-mail address for White Owl. People can email problems, reports on criminal activities and requests for help to me. If the issue is something I can handle without disturbing police investigations, then I try to follow up.As one can imagine, a lot of what filters through this system are requests for personal appearances, photographs, and requests from would-be suitors. But every so often I'll find a gem in the system. I was in my apartment near Victory Park one afternoon reading the e-mail, when I found one that piqued my interest.“White Owl; Years ago you sent me to prison. I've been reformed and would like to thank you personally. Would you do me the honor? I want to keep my identity secret, but if you agree, then you can meet my messenger, a prison guard, at Fourth and Elm at midnight.”Obviously, I was curious. And I was also certain it was a trap. Still, I was certain I could handle anything that would come my way.As midnight drew near, I slipped into my high necked leotard, and stepped onto the balcony. I leaped into the night, flying toward the downtown. Below me, I didn't see the large SUV that my tenant and sometimes partner Tiffany drove. But she saw me flying out. “Hmm I wonder where White Owl's going?” she thought. She applied the brake and a few moments later, the Crimson Dynamo followed discretely behind. “It may be nothing,” Crimson thought, “ But if Owl needs backup, she's going to have it.”I scanned the corner from a safe rooftop and saw a nervous man in a guard's uniform staring intently at his watch. He shifted his feet continuously, looking around like someone was about to kill him. I didn't understand his nervousness, and I couldn't see anyone else at hand. I swooped up, then landed at Fourth and Elm, across from the bank and fountain.“I take it you're the guard I'm supposed to meet?” I asked innocently, tapping the guard on the shoulder. He nearly jumped out of his skin, then settled down. His face looked familiar, but I couldn't put a name to it—like when you see someone you know in a completely unfamiliar setting.“Wh..White Owl!” he said excitedly. “I...I didn't think you were going to show up. But I'm glad you did.”“I'm sure you are,” I replied. “So what's all the mystery?”“My boss wants to meet with you,” he replied.“The warden?” I asked.“No...no...its...well it strange to explain,” he said. “Maybe if you'd just follow me.”We walked west down Fourth, to the old manor section of the city, a distance of about five blocks. The guard stopped in front of one home with a high stone wall, and an iron gate.“This is it,” he announced, opening the gate. Just inside, two guard shacks flanked the short driveway, and behind it, a large three story home loomed over a small courtyard. In the moonlight, I could see the glint of bars against the windows.“Is this a prison?” I asked, astonished.“You might say that,” said my escort. “A private prison with a population of one.”I nodded and followed as another guard motioned us into the foyer of the house. The guard lead me up a flight of stairs and into a hallway filled with cells on either side. “Not so fast,” I said. “Tell me what's going on here.”“You...you'll have your answers in a moment,” he said. He opened a door to a cell block, and stepped back. I looked in and saw a large sitting room, with very plush accommodations. In a comfortable looking chair, I saw the inmate, dressed in a tailored jumpsuit, drinking a snifter of port and smoking a cigar. He looked up and smiled.“White Owl! I'm so glad you took me up on my offer,” he said with genuine enthusiasm.“Gentleman Johnny Foster,” I said. “I wasn't aware you liked prison so much you fixed your home up like one. This is really bizarre.”“Yeah,” he said, running a hand through his curly red hair and slipping me a sly smile. “In a way I have you to thank for it.”“Really?” I asked. “How so?”“Well, I never really appreciated the luxuries I took for granted, until you arrested me and I did four years. So I updated my surroundings. And you have to admit that these bars make everything else seem all the more luxurious by comparison.”“Well, it sounds strange, but I can also see the psychological reasons for it,” I admitted.“Of course its not completely like prison,” said Gentleman Johnny, stepping through the open door. “I can come and go as freely as I like. No locks on the cells, you see.”“I'm very impressed Foster,” I said, beaming. “And if you stay on the up and up, there won't be any reason for me to change them back to the steel ones.”“That's funny, White Owl,” said Foster. “Changing other peoples circumstances should be the least of your worries right now. Look behind you.” I whirled and saw that the guard who'd escorted me had been joined by three others. I suddenly remembered where I'd seen the first guard, but somehow it no longer seemed important. Guns cleared holsters, and I ducked, knowing they'd hold fire rather than shoot Johnny.“This is no deterrent Johnny, I've fought rats with guns before. “I leaped forward, tackling a guard; and with a strong right jab, I sent him to lullaby land. Two more pressed in at me, and I back flipped, kicking each of them in the jaw and smiling as they dropped unconscious to the floor.I was about to attack the fourth guard when I heard a whoosh, followed by a large WHACK! My vision blurred, and I felt my knees buckling. A second blow fell against the back of my skull and I dropped like a rag doll to the floor.“You mean you'll be taking a long nap. A permanent nap.” said Johnny.A few minutes later, I pressed my hand to my head and staggered to my feet. I was in a room covered in steel plate, with a heavy door, hinged on the outside in front of me. A thick plate of glass served as a porthole into the room. Looking up, I could see Gentleman Johnny leering at me through the glass. He held up my tool belt and I looked down to see my bared waist. Through a speaker, I heard him say, “Every prison has a Death Row White Owl. This is mine. You took me out of circulation for a long time, and this is payback.”I stood up, placing my hand on the door. “What are you talking about, Foster. Let me out of here!”Foster continued without missing a beat. “See those tubes, White Owl? In a minute, a slow, poison gas is going to come through there. The room will fill up, and you will die, a slow, agonizing death.”“The law will catch up with you Foster,” I said. “You'll answer for this eventually!”“Then I'll see you in hell, White Owl,” he laughed.An acrid scent tickled my nostrils as the first of the poison entered the chamber. I pounded on the door and walls with all my strength, but soon realized I was burning up whatever oxygen was left to me.“If I have to die, then I'm glad it was in battle against criminals,” I thought. “And I'm glad Crimson isn't here to share my grisly fate.”Upstairs, Gentleman Johnny slipped into his king sized bed and sighed. “With White Owl dying in the basement, I ought to sleep better than I ever have,” he said. His valet merely nodded.“You and the other boys watch the cell,” he said. “And when the end is close, get me. I want to see her turning blue, Gus” “Yes sir, Mr. Foster.”“Oh and Gus?”“Sir?”“Shut out my lights.”The room settled into darkness.The Crimson Dynamo stood patiently waiting as White Owl. “I still don't like this,” she said to herself, “But I'll give Owl fifteen minutes before going in after her.” But her patience ran thin, and Crimson used her jump boots to boost herself to the third floor, where she heard Johnny's grim words.“How odd,” she thought, “This place looks like a prison, but the bars are made out of rubber. She easily bent the bars and slipped into a hallway as darkness descended upon the manor. She crept stealthily through the dark house, looking for the stairs. One thought filled her mind. “He said White Owl was still alive. Hold on Athena, I'm coming for you.”She found the stair to the basement. Shooting a line into the wall across from middle stair, Crimson swung into the room. But her foot hit an aluminum beer can, alerting the guards to her presence.“Hey, its the Crimson Dynamo! Stop her!” Crimson bounced off the wall, executed a well timed cartwheel and came up punching at the fake guards. One of them had his club out and took a swing at Crimson. She ducked and came up with an elbow to his solar plexus. The guard OOOMMPHED, then dropped. But the other three guards dove as one, driving Crimson into a wall. She lay dazed an one guard sat on her legs, ready to punch the gallant heroine in the face. “I don't know how you found this place, but you're about to share your friend's fate.”Crimson lifted her arm, aiming blindly at the glass window. “Hope this works,” she muttered. The fist hammered home and she didn't see the result of her errant shot. But I did. The Flash Bang and phosphorus bombs hit at the same time, exploding and shattering the glass porthole to my gas chamber.I scrambled to my feet, and heaved myself through the glass. There was no time to grab my belt; the guard sitting on Tiffany's legs had her semi conscious and was feeling between her legs with his hairy paw. I drew a deep breath, forcing all the poison from my lungs. My healing factor was rapidly restoring my strength and with a rapid succession of lightning fast jabs, I soon had the fake guards unconscious on the floor.“Are you OK?” I asked Crimson, as she roused herself back to full alertness.“Are you out of your mind?” she asked. “You went off alone, to a home of a known felon. Were you TRYING to get yourself killed?”“I thought he'd reformed,” I began.“Criminals NEVER reform,” said Crimson, her gloved finger in my face, scolding.Chastened, we quickly bound the guards and dragged them out of the basement, away from the poison gas.Upstairs, Gentleman Johnny was waking up. “Ahhh What a nice sleep. Now I'm hungry.” He bellowed out, “Skinny, Gus! Bring me some breakfast”His guards stood looking at him, “Look at him, thinking he can order us around. He must be crazy.”“No no, stop talking like that—you work for me, remember?”“I think he needs some time in solitary, Gus, how about you?”The two guards grabbed Johnny and in no time at all, he found himself locked in a solitary cell. “You can't DO this to me. I'm the BOSS! I run this outfit!” He turned from the door and spotted White Owl! “You? But you're dead! I started the gas myself! I killed you!” He jumped and started.But the awakening was worse than the dream. Gentleman Johnny was back in his king-sized bed. “What a horrible dream,” he said. “But White Owl will never bother me again!”But in the darkness of the room, he saw two female figures, silhouetted in the moonlight.“No! It can't be YOU, you're DEAD!”Crimson looked at me and said, “You look pretty good for a corpse.”“Help! Skinny, Gus! Kill them!” shouted Foster.But there was no answer.“Oh that's right, they're handcuffed and unconscious downstairs,” I offered.Foster reached under his pillow and pulled out a lethal looking automatic. “You'll never take me alive!” he cliched.I looked at Crimson and curtsied. Foster's trembling hand kept moving the gun at her, then at me. Finally, Crimson put her gauntlet up and a flash bang exploded in Johnny's face. As he screamed in pain and surprise, I caught him on the aw with a right uppercut. The villain folded and went back to sleep.And so it was that an old customer was returned to the prison; and his dreams are still haunted by the Crimson Dynamo and White Owl.The end...Based on a story from Adventure Comics 492 (which in itself is a reprint) The original is by Simon and kirby--hey if you're going to swipe--swipe the best!
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