Flanagan tied up Courtland with his own belt and ties raided from the closet. He

dropped the man on the bed as he looked the place over. He found a set of papers with

spaces for signing over his company. He frowned beneath his welder’s mask.

Apparently the meeting being called after he was dead involved a deal for his

business. He noted that the buying business had Rydell as the chairman of the new

board and majority stock holder.

He didn’t see any of the names of the other stock holders on the paperwork. How did

Rydell plan to sell them on the idea? He thought that if they thought he was dead,

then that would be enough to sway everyone but Miss Rich. He hoped she would

have said no to such a deal when her controlling interest kicked in.

How did he turn this around? He wanted to get Miss Rich back. Was she dead? If she

was, Courtland would be taking a swan dive out the window.

He needed to give Rydell a reason to hold on to her if he had her.

He looked at the paperwork. That might be enough to buy him some time. He smiled

under the mask. He hoped he could pull this off.

He picked up the phone and called Westwood’s office first. He needed to make sure

Rydell hadn’t moved. If the detectives still had an eye on him, that would be okay.

“Westwood,” said the detective. It was a good thing he hadn’t gone home. That would

have meant doing things the hard way.

“Do you still have an eye on Rydell?,” asked Flanagan.

“He hasn’t moved according to my guys,” said Westwood. “I outfitted the tail cars

with radios so they could call in without having to look for pay phones.”

“Call them and tell them to be on alert to follow him if he leaves,” said Flanagan. “I

want to know what he does.”

“Got it,” said Westwood.

“I’ll call back in a bit,” said Flanagan. He hung up. Then he dialed Rydell’s private

number to his house on the Island. He needed to give his suspected attempted

murderer some bait.

“Hello?,” said Rydell’s growl. “Who’s this?”

“I know you have Josephine Rich,” said Flanagan. “I have Arnold Courtland and your

precious paperwork. I’m willing to trade if Miss Rich is alive. If she isn’t, your

agreement is going into my fireplace.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Rydell.

“I suppose that’s okay,” said Flanagan. “Courtland gets to take a swan dive out the

window, and all this comes out in the press. I’ll see you on the front page tomorrow.”

“You’re going to throw Arnie Courtland out the window?,” asked Rydell. “Don’t you

think there’s better ways to do things.”

“I traced Courtland from his attacks on Flanagan and Miss Rich,” said Flanagan. “I

have your paperwork in my hands. I know people who would love to see this. You

could lose it all. At least your wife will be able to administer your part of your wealth

while you’re away. It wouldn’t be a great solution, but you have the next move. Give

me back Miss Rich, and I give you the paperwork and Courtland to deal with as you

please.”

“How do I know this is on the up and up?,” asked Rydell.

Flanagan read the top of the front page of the deal over the line.

“How do you want to do this?,” asked Rydell. Flanagan imagined him sitting in his

easy chair, thinking of ways to set up an ambush.

“I’m going to call back in an hour,” said Flanagan. “I’ll tell you where the meet is

going to be. You bring Miss Rich. I bring Courtland and the deal. We trade. We walk

away. You don’t try anything, and you get to keep everything a secret.”

“No one knows?,” said Rydell.

“Not yet,” said Flanagan. “And they won’t as long as you don’t try to doublecross me.

If I don’t see Miss Rich, you won’t see the papers. That’s all I am ready to give you.”

“All right,” said Rydell. “I have to make some phone calls and get her. I’ll be waiting

on your call.”

Flanagan hung up. He called Westwood back.

“Westwood,” said the detective.

“Keep an eye on the Rydell house,” said Flanagan. “I need to know if he leaves, or

if someone drives up.”

“I’ll let my guys know,” said Westwood. “Are we raiding the house?”

“I don’t know yet,” said Flanagan. “I proposed a trade. I am going to call him back

in an hour to set up a meet. I need your guys ready to follow him and get Miss Rich

out of danger.”

“I’ll let them know,” said Westwood. “Is there anything else I can do?”

“I might need your help later,” said Flanagan. “Right now, I just need you to watch

until I can call you back to tell you where we’re going to meet. Be ready.”

Flanagan hung up the phone. He had things to do. Part of that was getting Courtland

out of the Aviary without causing a fuss.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

He planned to call Westwood before he went into action, but he needed to move to

the staging area first.

He made sure that Courtland was gagged before he slung the man over his shoulder.

He took the paperwork and tucked it in his belt. He walked to the door. He cracked

it open to peer out in the hall without attracting attention. When he was sure the coast

was clear, he carried his burden to the stairs. He worked his way down to the second

floor and out the window he had used to get in the building.

He put Courtland in the trunk and shut the lid on him. Now he had to drive out to the

Island before Rydell expected him to call. Then he could think of something to get

Miss Rich back. He put the deal in the glove box before starting the car and setting

out.

If anyone searched the car, they would find Courtland. They might not find the

paperwork, and it wouldn’t matter if they did. Either he came through and got Miss

Rich back, or he went to the meeting and shut Rydell down there.

Either way, he wasn’t giving up his friend, or his company, without a fight.

Flanagan drove across town, using the Brooklyn Bridge to get to Long Island. He

aimed for Rydell’s mansion on the Gold Coast. He needed to call Westwood to make

sure his quarry hadn’t moved.

He doubted the man would come along quietly. He had already committed to violence

when he had the dynamite thrown to the factory floor. It had been blind luck that no

one had been seriously hurt in the explosion. The two personal attacks showed that

Rydell wanted him dead so he could get his way.

Flanagan stopped at a payphone a few miles from Rydell’s house. It was almost time

to call him for the meet. First, he had to call Westwood.

He put the change in and dialed the detective’s office.

“Westwood,” said the private investigator.

“Has Rydell moved?,” asked Flanagan.

“No,” said Westwood. “A car pulled up and a gang piled out. My guys couldn’t tell

if Miss Rich was there.”

“All right,” said Flanagan. “I have fifteen minutes to get there. Call your guys and tell

them to keep an eye out in case they get a chance to rescue her.”

“I’ll let them know,” said Westwood. “Are you sure about this? We could call the

cops and let them handle things.”

“Maybe,” said Flanagan. “I would rather make sure Miss Rich is okay with my own

two eyes. I got her into this mess. I have to get her out.”

“Right,” said Westwood. “Good luck.”

Flanagan hung up the public phone. He got back into the idling car and sped down

the road.

He knew where Rydell’s estate sat because he had visited there for a party and

backroom meeting. He imagined the low block wall around the grounds, and the steel

gate barring people from driving to the house unless someone triggered the hydraulics

holding the gate closed. He would wreck his car trying to drive through that.

He needed to get in without anyone knowing he was there, then he needed to take

Miss Rich and leave. He couldn’t afford to let his car be wrecked while he was trying

to make a getaway.

He pulled into bushes concealing the wall around the estate. He winced at the sound

of branches scratching the car up, but then reminded himself that the car was stolen.

He grabbed his shield and got out.

He pulled the shield onto his arm as he climbed on top of the car. He used the roof to

jump over the spikes on top of the wall. He landed lightly on the other side and

started toward the house.

He didn’t see any guards wandering the grounds. Maybe they were all waiting for the

call he wasn’t going to make.

He skulked to the front window overlooking the lawn. He peered inside. A group of

men stood in Rydell’s private office. Miss Rich sat in a chair in front of Rydell’s

desk. Rydell sat behind the desk. He stared at the phone as if willing it to ring.

He needed to attract their attention from using Miss Rich as a bargaining chip and get

her out of the way.

He backed up to get himself some room. He ran at the window and threw himself at

it. He wasn’t really that light, but he still might have bounced off if he hadn’t been

wearing the chainmail covered in his mixture. He crashed through the glass and fell

on the nearest men with that extra mass working in his favor. It was enough to knock

them into the men behind them, staggering them out of the way.

Flanagan swung his shield around him with all of his strength. He saw the angles of

attack in his head and followed them. The triangle caught bodies edge on as he threw

himself into the fight.

“Run!,” shouted Flanagan. He threw himself into a diving kick to carry his body over

Rydell’s desk and send the fatter man in his wheeled chair rolling away from the

desk.

Miss Rich stood up. Her hands had been tied behind her with rope. Her legs had been

left unbound since they had thought they would be moving her again. She ran for the

door.

Flanagan threw himself back over the desk and ran after her. He turned and held his

shield up. He didn’t want a stray shot hitting her if he could block it. The only piece

he was not sure wouldn’t stop a bullet was his headgear.

He followed Miss Rich to the front door. He pulled it open and looked outside. No

one had jumped through the window to cut them off.

That wouldn’t last long if they got their wits about them and started shooting from the

cover of the mansion. He had to get Miss Rich to cover so she could get away while

he drew the gunmen’s attention.

He had been lucky so far but he couldn’t expect that luck to last.

“Run down to the gate,” said Flanagan. “I have a car waiting on the road.”

He pulled the knot holding her hands behind her away. He kept an eye on the window

and the office beyond. His armor would blend into the night, but Miss Rich still wore

the tan dress she had picked out for the party at his townhouse.

She was a moving target across the dark lawn. He had to buy time for her to get down

to the wall.

He pulled the stolen pistol from his belt. He calculated angles as he moved across the

lawn. He wanted them to shoot at him and not Miss Rich. He waited until he saw a

part of a gunman taking aim. He fired his automatic.

He held up his shield as a fusillade dumped lead on him. He barely felt any impact.

He fired back to keep their attention. A glance told him that Miss Rich was at the

gate, looking for a way over the wall.

He jogged down to stand with her. This was the most dangerous part of everything.

He needed help now.

He handed her the shield for protection. He grabbed her in a hug around her thighs.

He hefted her to the top of the wall. She dropped down on the other side.

“Here,” she said. She handed back his shield through the bars of the gate.

He took it and strapped it on his arm.

“Get in the car,” said Flanagan. “I’m coming over the wall.”

He ignored the sounds of bullets cutting the air to look at the wall next to the gate. He

saw that it had an electronic pad to let cars out. He used that as a stepping stone and

pulled himself over the wall and dropped down to the other side.

Miss Rich pulled the getaway car up so he could get inside the passenger side. She

waited for him to do that before driving away from the chaos behind them.

“Are you all right?,” asked Flanagan.

“I’m really mad right now,” said Miss Rich.

“What do we do about this mess?,” said Flanagan. “I didn’t think about calling the

cops in on this, and Courtland is in the trunk.”

“Courtland is in the trunk?,” said Miss Rich.

“Yes, so watch your driving,” said Flanagan. “We can’t afford to be stopped. We’ll

be the ones on charges.”

“All right,” she said. “We need to find a place where we can talk without worry.”

“Both of our homes have been invaded,” said Flanagan. “Someone might be at the

factory, or the office. Let’s see if we can find a hotel that will accept your appearance.

We’ll leave Courtland waiting for the cops.”

“I’m for that,” said Miss Rich. “Thanks for saving my life.”

“It was the least I could do,” said Flanagan.