Red Arrow

Reel Life, Real Death

by HarveyKent

Part One

“Cody Jarrett.”

“He finally made it to the top of the world; and it blew up in his face.”

THE END

Roy Harper smiled to himself as the enormous end title flashed up on the screen. He sat there in the darkness until the lights came up, watching the other patrons filing past him on their way out. He hadn’t seen this movie when it originally came out. It had been released in 1949, one year after he was hurled into the ancient past by the explosion of the Nebula-Man. In the Forties he had been a big James Cagney fan and had never missed one of his pictures. He enjoyed coming to “revival” movie houses that showed the old ones on the big screen. He knew about VCRs and video rentals, but it just wasn’t the same. The screen was so small, the sound so dim; you didn’t even have to watch them in the dark. It was sacrilegious to watch a movie with the lights on. It was like dreaming with your eyes open.

“Hi,” a female voice said as Roy stepped out of the theater. He turned and saw a very attractive young woman smiling at him. She was of Oriental descent, perhaps Chinese or Korean, Roy couldn’t tell. Her hair was long, black, and shiny; her body was small but filled out her jeans and black turtleneck very attractively.

“Hi,” Roy said back. He wondered why she had greeted him. Did he know her from somewhere?

“I saw you in the theater,” she said. “Couldn’t help but notice you, really. You were the only one in there besides me who was under fifty!”

“Yeah, it was kind of an old crowd, wasn’t it?” Roy said. He had to repress his surprise. She didn’t know him, but she was trying to introduce herself. He sometimes forgot that women did that these days. It was unheard of in the early Forties; such a woman would have been considered “loose”. “Are you a fan of old movies?”

“Sure am,” the girl said. “I’m a film student at UCLA, working on my master’s. How about you?”

“Nothing like that, I just prefer the classics to modern movies,” Roy said. “I guess I’m kind of an anachronism.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” the girl said. “My name’s Maggie, by the way. Maggie O’Toole.”

“O’Toole?” Roy asked. His surprise must have shown on his face, for Maggie started to giggle. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t take people by surprise that way. But I do love to see the look on people’s faces! I’m adopted.”

“Oh! Well, I hope the look on my face didn’t disappoint.”

“No, it was classic! What’s your name?”

“Roy. Roy Harper.”

“Roy, I like that. From the French for ‘king’.” Maggie made an exaggerated curtsey. “Your majesty.”

Roy laughed. He liked this girl! “And what’s Maggie mean?”

” ‘She who is thirsty,’ ” Maggie said. “Want to get a cup of coffee or something?”

Roy grinned broadly. “The king decrees it so,” he joked.

Part Two

“Oh yeah, Val Lewton was twenty years ahead of his time,” Maggie said as she and Roy sat in the booth of the coffee shop. “His films were so moody, so atmospheric. They were like actual nightmares captured on film! Far ahead of what anyone else in the genre had done up to that time, with the possible exception of James Whale.”

Roy shook his head. “I have to admit, I never analyzed the films as much as you do. I just know what I like, that’s all.”

“But that’s a form of film criticism, in a way,” Maggie said. “You like it or you don’t like it, based on your personal tastes. The only difference between you and Gene Shallit is that he gets paid for it.”

“And I have a better barber,” Roy added, making Maggie laugh.

“So what do you do, Roy?” Maggie asked. “When you’re not watching old movies, I mean.”

“I work at the YMCA,” Roy said. “I coach underprivileged kids, teach them sports. Keeps them from joining gangs, or at least we hope it does.”

Maggie was impressed. “That is so amazing. God, you make me feel so useless; all I want to do is make movies! And you’re actually making a difference in the world!”

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short,” Roy said. “Movies can make a difference, too. How many people decided to do something worthwhile with their lives because they saw Mr. Smith Goes to Washington?”

“Good point,” Maggie said. “I like you, Roy. I’d like to see you again.”

“I’d like that,” Roy said. “I have to admit, I’m not used to being asked out by a woman! It’s a new experience for me!”

“What, a good-looking, nice guy like you?” Maggie asked. “You must have met a lot of old-fashioned girls before this! So, how about lunch tomorrow?”

“Sounds great! Where can I meet you?”

“Actually, I’m observing on a movie set! Ever been behind the scenes of a movie?”

“No, never,” Roy said. “It sounds fascinating.”

“They’re doing a remake of Hoodlum Without A Motive, and tomorrow they’re filming the scene at the Griffith Observatory. You can meet me there. Just tell them you’re with me!”

“OK, I’ll see you there!”

Part Three

“Roy’s got a girlfriend, Roy’s got a girlfriend,” Jennie-Lynn Hayden sang teasingly over the phone.

“Cut it out, Jen,” Roy said testily. “I thought our group was Infinity, Inc., not the Little Rascals!”

“Whew!” Jennie-Lynn remarked. “It’s about time you started dating someone else, ’cause you’re always dating yourself, with remarks like that!”

“Look, are you going to help me or not?” Roy asked.

“OK, OK, I’m sorry. So what do you want to know?”

“Anything you think I’ll need to know about this Hoodlum Without A Motive movie. I mean, I rented it last night after I left Maggie, and I watched it, but I want to be able to make some intelligent commentary if I have to.”

“You mean, you’d never seen it before?” Jennie asked, startled.

“Hey, I had twenty-five years of movies to catch up on,” Roy reminded.

“I know, but — gee, Roy, Hoodlum is a classic!”

“So tell me why it’s a classic.”

“Well, it was one of Jack Masters’ only three pictures, for one thing.”

“Why didn’t he make any more?”

Jennie paused. “You’re not kidding? You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Jack Masters died shortly after Hoodlum was completed. Wrecked his car on a deserted desert highway. That’s how he became ‘the’ teen icon, and still is today. Geez, I thought everyone knew that!”

“Bear with me, Jen. Anything else?”

“Well, some say the movie is cursed.”

“Cursed? Why?”

“Not just Masters, but most of the movie’s stars met early deaths. Nancy Maple, Sam Maxio, even Len Planck. Just about the only one left alive is Gene Frontis.”

“The guy who played Masters’ father in the movie?” Roy asked. “Wasn’t he on Mulligan’s Atoll too?”

“I wouldn’t remind him of that, if you meet him tomorrow,” Jennie said coyly.

Roy blinked. “Why would I meet him tomorrow?”

“He’s technical consultant on the remake,” Jennie advised.

Part Four

“Name?” the burly guard in the black leather jacket asked, consulting a clipboard.

“Roy Harper,” Roy said. “I’m with Maggie O’Toole.”

The guard scanned the list, found Roy’s name, and nodded. “Over there,” he said, nodding to the right. “By the director’s chair.”

Roy thanked the guard and walked over. He saw Maggie standing beside the director’s chair, in which a middle-aged man was seated. His hair was going gray and away at the same time, and he watched the actors with a nervous tension.

“Roy, hi!” Maggie called joyously when she saw him. “Come on over, I’ll introduce you!”

The director turned his head at Maggie’s words and watched Roy approach. He looked at the young man appraisingly.

“Mr. Carlinger, this is Roy Harper. He’s a big old movie fan, same as me. Roy, this is John Carlinger, director of the new Hoodlum Without A Motive!”

“How do you do?” Roy asked, extending his hand.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Carlinger said, shaking Roy’s hand. He continued to look at Roy like a dog show judge sizing up a mastiff, and Roy began to feel nervous. “What studio are you with, Mr. Harper?”

“I beg your pardon?” Roy asked.

“Oh, Roy’s not in the business,” Maggie said. “He works at the Y, coaching underprivileged kids.”

“Oh, I see,” Carlinger said. “Admirable work, admirable. I hope your kids are easier to control than these strutting puppets I have to work with!”

A loud, jovial laugh rolled from behind Roy. “By George, just like the old days! Carlinger, you remind me of Otto Preminger! Strutting puppets, by God! Har!” Roy turned to see the tycoon from Mulligan’s Atoll walking towards them.

“Mr. Frontis, this is Roy Harper,” Maggie said.

“Maggie, my child, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times, call me Gene,” the kindly old actor said warmly. He took Roy’s hand and pumped it vigorously. “And that goes for you, too, young man. Roy, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” Roy smiled. “You probably get this all the time, but I thought you were brilliant in Man of a Million Masks.”

Frontis’ face brightened; he had half-expected a comment on Mulligan’s Atoll. “Maggie, marry this boy immediately. I like him!”

Maggie giggled and shot an admiring glance at Roy.

Part Five

Frontis then went to discuss something with Carlinger, and Maggie pulled Roy aside.

“I’m impressed,” she said. “Gene’s as friendly as they come, but it gets his goat that all people remember him for is Mulligan’s Atoll. You really made points back there!”

“Well, a friend of mine tipped me off that he hated that,” Roy confessed. “Say, you’re pretty tight with the director and the consultant, for being an observing film student.”

Maggie lowered her eyes. “Well, I have a confession, too. My uncle’s company provides food service for a lot of movie shoots, including this one. So I had a way in.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Roy observed. “Just making use of the resources at hand.”

“Glad you see it that way,” Maggie said.

“All right, let’s have it quiet on the set,” Carlinger called. He pointed to the script girl. “Go get Ron out of his trailer, will you? This movie’s overbudget enough already without him delaying the shooting.” The script girl scurried off in the direction of the trailers.

“Ron?” Roy asked Maggie.

“Ron Highe. He’s the star of this movie, taking the Masters part,” Maggie explained.

“I see. Is your thesis on Masters, then, that you wanted to observe this movie?”

“No, remakes,” Maggie said. “How a film’s entire direction can change under a different cast and director when it’s essentially the same script.”

“I see. You’ll be including House of Wax, I’m sure.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Maggie said. “When was that remade?”

“It is a remake,” Roy explained. “It was a remake of an earlier picture called Mystery in the Wax Museum.”

“I never knew that!” Maggie said, startled. “God, I never thought I’d meet anyone as big a film geek as–”

“Mr. Carlinger!” the script girl shrieked, running back onto the set. “Mr. Carlinger, come quick! I — I think you’d better see this!”

Part Six

Roy watched grimly as the body was carried out of the trailer on a stretcher. It was completely covered with a sheet, but Maggie still turned her face away, burying it in Roy’s shoulder. Ron Highe had been murdered, stabbed to death. Stabbed repeatedly.

“I can’t believe it,” Frontis said. “Why would anyone want to hurt a nice boy like Ron?”

“You know how crazy fans can get,” Carlinger said grimly. “Might have been someone obsessed with him, who decided if she couldn’t have him, no one would.”

Frontis gaped at the director. “You’re suggesting a woman could have done this? Carlinger, that’s insane!”

Carlinger shrugged. “Ever heard of Lizzie Borden?”

Roy listened to this exchange with cold calculation. He had seen enough dead bodies to be able to give an approximate time of death from its appearance. Highe had been dead long enough for anyone on the set to have done it.

Roy glanced from Carlinger to Frontis… and then down at Maggie.

Anyone.

***

“Thanks for driving me home,” Maggie said, as Roy piloted the car down Santa Monica Boulevard. “I’m still a bit shaken up, from… from…”

“It’s all right,” Roy said kindly. He reached over and squeezed her hand. After a moment he said, “Carlinger mentioned the film was overbudget. Do you know anything about that?”

“Well, there’ve been a lot of accidents on the set,” Maggie said. “Scenery catching fire, props found smashed; it was almost like someone was trying to sabotage the film.” Maggie’s eyes widened and she stared at Roy. “You’re not a cop or anything, are you?”

“Me? No,” Roy said. “I’m just curious, that’s all. But if someone were trying to sabotage the movie, killing the star would be a good way to do it, wouldn’t it?”

“I guess so,” Maggie said, and shuddered. “This is creepy, Roy! It’s like — well, it’s like a movie!”

Roy chuckled. “Yeah, an old Charlie Chan picture! Are you an Oland fan, or a Toler?”

“Oh, Oland, definitely,” Maggie said. “Oland every time.”

“Me, too,” Roy said.

Part Seven

It was well after midnight that night when Roy Harper returned to the observatory. But he was not Roy Harper now, for he had donned the garb of the Red Arrow. Surefooted and silent, as his Native American guardian Quoag had taught him to be, he crept past guards and avoided security systems, penetrating into the heart of the film set. He made his way, silent as a shadow, to the trailers that housed the stars of Hoodlum Without A Motive. He intended to search for some clue, some identifying mark left unwittingly behind by the killer.

Just as his hand approached the door of the late Ron Highe’s trailer, he heard a noise. Faint, muffled, but unmistakable. The rasp of a steel saw-blade on metal. Quick as a hare, he ran in the direction of the sound. He found himself running toward the crane that lifted the cameraman high above the ground to film from an aerial view. He saw a human figure, in a cloak and slouch hat, sawing through the supporting struts of the crane. He was rigging the crane to plunge the cameraman to the hard pavement below!

Quick as thought, Red Arrow drew an arrow from his quiver, notched it to his bowstring, drew and fired. The arrow sped like a hawk to its prey, knocking the saw from the man’s hand with a sharp metallic clang. The man’s head snapped around to stare at Red Arrow, and the hero suppressed a gasp. The face was hideously ugly; it seemed to be a mass of healed-over scars and twisted bone. The skin around one eye was apparently ripped away, making that eye appear larger than the other. The man stared at Red Arrow with undisguised hatred.

Before the startled archer could recover, the man drew a knife from the folds of his cloak and threw it. Red Arrow’s instincts took over, and he dodged the knife. The ugly man bolted, fleeing rapidly through the darkened observatory grounds. Red Arrow gave pursuit, but the man tossed a small globular object behind him. When it struck the ground at Red Arrow’s feet it burst into flames; the archer was forced to halt his pursuit. By the time he could put the fire out with a couple of well-placed fire extinguisher arrows, the man was gone.

Red Arrow stood in the darkened movie set for a long time, the hideous face burned into his mind. A name rang through his memory, clear as a bell.

Clayface!

Part Eight

“Clayface?” Nuklon repeated. “Are you sure, Roy?”

“Pretty sure,” Red Arrow said, standing behind his large friend in the Infinity, Inc. communications center. “He was sabotaging a movie set, and he wore theatrical make-up that made him look uglier than Solomon Grundy with a two-week hangover.”

“Fits the M.O., all right,” Nuklon said. “Let me punch up his file and see what we get.”

Nuklon’s large fingers flew over the computer keyboard faster than Red Arrow’s eyes could follow. He marveled at the manual dexterity of one so large and strong, and quickly chalked that observation up to conditioned stereotypes. As Roy finished this inner contemplation, an image appeared on the computer screen. The screen was split into two pictures, one of Basil Karlo as he normally appeared, and one of Karlo in his Clayface makeup.

“What does ‘CD’ mean?” Red Arrow asked, reading the large red letters beneath Karlo’s name and alias.

“That stands for ‘Classification: Dead’,” Nuklon pointed out. “If Karlo was your saboteur last night, he’s taken a page from Jim Corrigan’s book.”

“What? Dead? Are you sure, Al?” Red Arrow demanded.

“Certainly. Says here he died in his cell in Arkham on October 31, 1968.” Al chuckled a little. “Halloween. How fitting for the king of the old-time horror movies. I can punch up a copy of his death certificate, if you like.”

“No, that’s OK,” Roy said. “Dead, huh? I guess that eliminates him as a suspect.”

“He’d be over ninety by now, even if he hadn’t died,” Nuklon pointed out. “But you know, it wouldn’t be the first time someone new had adopted an old villain’s style.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Roy said, with new enthusiasm. “Someone who wants the remake of Hoodlum stopped!”

“And you’d like me to find out who that someone might be?” Nuklon anticipated.

“I’ll owe you, buddy,” Red Arrow smiled.

Part Nine

“Thanks for having dinner with me, Roy,” Maggie said as they sat in their booth in the small Italian restaurant. “I’m having a wonderful time.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Roy said. “Ron Highe’s death was all over the TV and newspapers today. This may be the last chance I have to have you all to myself, before you’re besieged by reporters.”

Maggie blinked. “Reporters? Why would they want to talk to me?”

“You were on the set when the body was found,” Roy pointed out. “You may have been one of the last ones to see him alive.”

“God, I hadn’t thought of that!” Maggie shuddered. “The whole thing frightens me. I mean, Ron was kind of stuck on himself, was a bit snappish on the set, but who’d want to kill him?”

“Maybe someone doesn’t like the idea of Hoodlum being remade,” Roy suggested.

“Huh! That would mean about three-fourths of the old movie buffs in the world are suspects!” Maggie said. “A lot of them consider it defacing a classic, like that awful remake of King Kong DeLaurentis did.”

“What about the people working on the movie?” Roy asked. “Any of them express any distaste for it?”

Maggie narrowed her eyes to stare at Roy. “You sure you’re not a cop?”

“Maggie, I promise you I’m not,” Roy said. “But, I do have some… friends in law enforcement. They did ask me to fish around, see what I could find out.”

“Well, they probably already know about the Clayface theory,” Maggie said.

“Clayface?” Roy asked, feigning ignorance. “Wasn’t he an old-time costumed villain? Let me see, he used to fight… the Sandman?”

“The Batman,” Maggie corrected. “Anyway, it seems Speedy was prowling around the set last night, and caught someone he thinks is Clayface in the act!”

“Red Arrow,” Roy blurted.

“What?” Maggie asked.

“Uh, I think he calls himself Red Arrow these days,” Roy said.

“Whatever,” Maggie said dismissively. “Anyway, he told the police what he’d seen. They said the original Clayface is long dead; they think it’s someone copying his old methods. But who?”

“Who, indeed?” Roy wondered out loud.

Part Ten

“So,” Maggie said, spearing a piece of ziti with her fork, “your cop friends asked you to find out what you could about the case, huh?”

“Something like that, yes,” Roy said, concentrating on his plate of stuffed shells. He didn’t like lying to Maggie; he liked her a lot and wanted to trust her. But duplicity went with the super-hero business like the funny name and the outré clothes closet.

“Well then, Nick, could you use a Nora?” Maggie asked. Roy looked up in surprise.

“You want to help?” he asked.

“Sure, I could ask some questions,” Maggie said. “The people on the set just met you, might not be as likely to open up to you. Except for Gene, he’d open up to anyone who’d listen, especially anyone who remembers him for anything other than Mr. Powell the billionaire!”

“Sounds like a plan,” Roy said, thoughtfully. “Why don’t you see what you can get out of Carlinger, and I’ll pump Gene for information. My friends are trying to find out who might have a reason for wanting the movie stopped.”

“It’d have to be a really big reason, to stab someone to death for it,” Maggie said, a little coldly. The fear that had been in her voice whenever she mentioned the murder was gone, replaced by icy anger.

Part Eleven

“I don’t think you understand,” Carlinger was shouting into the phone. “You do realize that when someone is stabbed seventeen times in the chest and stomach they generally die? And that means they can’t act in any more scenes? Oh, that’s very funny, Mr. Crump, but in very poor taste, don’t you think? Look, not even today’s moviegoing audience is going to believe that Ron Highe suddenly morphed into Chuckie Gleem midway through the movie! Not even Ed Wood would have pulled something like that! If Gleem is going to take over the role, we have to reshoot all the previous scenes with him! And that will take more money! What? I know, I know. Look, I’ll call you back. Goodbye.” Carlinger slammed the phone down in disgust. He looked up to see Maggie O’Toole standing patiently by, waiting for him to end his phone call.

“Lord save me from financiers who think they know a damned thing about film,” Carlinger spat.

“That was Darwin Crump?” Maggie asked. She knew the famous real-estate tycoon was financing the movie. The original had been a childhood favorite of his.

“None other,” Carlinger said. “Doesn’t want to spend any money reshooting Ron’s scenes with the new star. Wants to just pretend Ron suddenly turned into Chuckie Gleem. God, Maggie, if it weren’t for my contract, I’d sooner dig a hole to the center of the earth with my tongue than direct this piece of garbage!”

“Your contract?” Maggie asked.

“Yes, yes,” Carlinger said, waving his hand dismissively. “I had an offer from Third Millennium Studios to direct an adaptation of a Steinbeck novel. Steinbeck, do you hear? But this Roman galley masquerading as a film studio wouldn’t let me out of my contract to do it. Said I owe them one more film.” Carlinger spat on the ground. “That for contracts, and the gray men who write them!”

“That’s too bad,” Maggie said, watching the display with wide-eyed awe.

Part Twelve

“Mr. Frontis, do you have a minute?” Roy asked, approaching the aging actor as he relaxed in a folding chair, reading a script. The old man looked up and smiled brightly.

“Roy, my boy!” he said warmly. “You’re as bad as Maggie! I’ve told you, it’s Gene! Come, sit. What can an old man do for you?”

“I just wanted to talk,” Roy said, sitting down in a chair next to Frontis. “It’s not often I get to meet a real movie star; I don’t have the contacts that Maggie does.”

“Oh, you’re too kind, my boy,” Frontis said, smiling. “I’m afraid I can’t legitimately call myself a ‘movie star’ anymore. If I ever could; the best I ever did was second banana in pictures like Man of a Million Masks and Hoodlum.”

“But those were classics,” Roy said. “All the more so because of your performance. Without you to interact with, where would Jack Masters have been?”

Frontis smiled. “Thank you, Roy. I know that’s hogwash, but I appreciate it all the same.”

“Isn’t it tragic about Ron Highe, though?” Roy asked. “You have to wonder about the mind that could do something like that.”

“Not so much,” Frontis said. “It’s a mind that accepts death, that’s all. We all die, you know. Life has a hundred percent mortality rate.” Frontis sighed. “Some of us even know when.”

Roy’s eyes widened. “You mean, you’re… sick?”

” ‘Sick’ is a polite word for it, my boy,” Frontis said. “Plain and simple, I’m dying. The doctors give me another year, tops.”

“I’m so sorry,” Roy said, and meant it.

“Well, it’s been a good life,” Frontis said. “I don’t have any real regrets. The thing is, I wanted to go out on a high note, make one last picture before the end. But nobody would give me a part. All the producers and directors I went to, kids not much older than yourself, said in their best Mulligan voice, ‘Gee, Mr. Powell, you can’t play this part.’ Devil take them. Crump and Carlinger gave me this advisor’s job as a charity, really. But they meant well.”

“I’m sure they did,” Roy said, pensively.

Part Thirteen

“Roy? It’s Al,” the big man’s voice came over the wireless telephone.

“Hi, Al,” Roy said. “I’ve got a couple of leads you can try running down. It seems John Carlinger, the director, was forced to pass up a movie he’d much rather have done to work on Hoodlum; he could be doing it for revenge. And I’m sad to say Gene Frontis could be a suspect, too. He’s dying, and he wanted to make one last movie, but nobody would give him a part; all he could get was the consultant’s job on Hoodlum.”

“I’m afraid I’ve got a third suspect for you, Roy,” Al said. “Darwin Crump, the real estate tycoon. You knew he was bankrolling the movie, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did,” Roy said. “But where’s his angle?”

“You’ve heard about his recent financial troubles? Tax audit, wife suing him for divorce?”

“Yes.”

“Turns out he had the production of Hoodlum insured for a tidy sum. Probably more than he could ever make in profits if the movie were made.”

“But he couldn’t have done it,” Roy protested. “Isn’t he in New York?”

“Nuh-uh. He’s in LA this week, closing a development deal.”

“Oh, great,” Roy groaned. “This is turning into a Fredric Brown novel. Too many suspects, and it’s bound to be the one we least expect.”

“Fredric who?” Al asked.

“Skip it,” Roy sighed, realizing that he had dated himself again.

Part Fourteen

“Hi, Maggie,” Roy said, coming up behind the young film student.

“Oh! Hey, you startled me,” she said. Then in a lower voice she said, “Did you call your friends?”

“Uh huh; told them what we’d learned. We’ve now got three main suspects. Carlinger, Gene, and Darwin Crump.”

“Speak of the devil and he’ll appear,” Maggie said. “Look.”

Roy watched as none other than Darwin Crump himself bulled his way through the set to the director’s chair, demanding to speak to Carlinger. The two men instantly began arguing, hurling curses and accusations back and forth.

“Oh, my,” Gene Frontis said, coming up to Roy and Maggie. “Did I wander onto the set of the Morton Downey Jr. show by mistake?”

“No, Gene,” Maggie giggled. “The financier and the director are just have creative differences, that’s all.”

“What a pity,” Gene said. “I was hoping to bend John’s ear some more about the language in this film.”

“Language?” Roy asked.

“Gene doesn’t like the actors using the F-word so much,” Maggie explained.

“We never did in the old days,” Frontis said. “I know, I know, we couldn’t. But the film still became a classic without it. You can’t argue with that.”

“It looks like King Kong and Godzilla are going to be slugging it out for some time to come,” Maggie said, folding her arms over her chest and watching Carlinger and Crump shout at each other.

“Oh well,” Frontis said, “I’ll try to talk to John later. I think I’ll have a little lie-down in my trailer. My medication makes me sleepy sometimes, you know. You’ll get me if I’m needed?”

Maggie promised that she would, and Frontis walked off.

Roy was listening intently to the argument between the two men. His long-ago training by the Native American Quoag had taught him to tune out all other sounds than the ones he was listening for, so he was able to pick out most of the conversation, even though he stood far away. The argument, of course, was about money. At one point, Crump said that he had never wanted Ron Highe in the role at all, and had wanted Chuckie Gleem all the time. Roy found this very interesting.

Finally, the argument broke up. Crump stormed off the set, headed for a meeting with his west coast bankers. Carlinger, exhausted by the duel, called for a break and stalked off himself.

“So those are our suspects,” Maggie said, long after the two men had gone.

“Them, and Gene,” Roy added. Maggie looked up at Roy, questioningly.

“Roy, you don’t honestly believe that sweet old man could have anything to do with this?”

“I don’t want to,” Roy admitted. “But we have to keep an open–”

“Look!” someone screamed. All eyes turned in the direction of the scream, and saw the script-girl pointing up. The astonished crew then followed her pointing finger to the roof of the observatory. They saw a human figure racing along the edge of the rooftop, a figure in a slouch hat and cloak.

“Clayface!” someone shouted.

Part Fifteen

The set was a flurry of frenzied activity then. Someone shouted for security; another demanded someone call the police. Without a word, Roy broke out in a dead run, straight for the observatory doors.

“Where are you going?” Maggie shouted.

“I’m going inside to call the police,” he shouted over his shoulder without stopping.

“But — but there’s phones here!” Maggie called, but Roy had vanished into the observatory. Maggie kept her eyes glued to the figure on the roof, praying he would not go inside the building and find Roy.

As he raced up the observatory stairs, Roy Harper shed his outer clothes and revealed the uniform of Red Arrow. He quickly stuffed the clothes into the duffel bag he carried, drew out his quiver and bow and sped to the roof. He pried open the door slowly, trying not to make a sound. He saw the figure in the cloak bent over some small device, making adjustments to it. A single word flashed through Red Arrow’s mind like lightning: BOMB!

“Hold it right there!” Red Arrow shouted, drawing an arrow and notching it to his bowstring. “Don’t make a move!”

The new Clayface looked up, turning his hideous face on Red Arrow. His hand flew into the folds of his cloak and drew out a pistol. Red Arrow fired, and the arrow sank into the barrel of the pistol expertly. Disgusted, Clayface threw away the gun and rushed at Red Arrow, arms out. Roy did not have time to notch another arrow; he threw up his own arms to block the villain’s assault. They grappled like wrestlers, grunting, fighting to gain ground. Red Arrow grimaced at the hideous makeup his opponent wore; it was ghastly, gruesome. Finally, Red Arrow managed to force his opponent back, letting him get in one solid punch to the jaw. Clayface staggered backwards a few steps; Red Arrow took advantage of the moment to draw and notch a net-arrow. But before he could fire, Clayface leapt over the side of the roof, out into space!

Part Sixteen

Red Arrow raced to the edge of the roof, looked out over it to see what had happened. Why had the man committed suicide rather than risk capture? It didn’t make sense. But when the archer looked, Clayface was nowhere to be found!

“The telescope!” someone on the ground shouted; Red Arrow looked, and saw it was Maggie. “He landed on the telescope, and slid down it into the observatory!”

Red Arrow dashed back inside the building and raced down the steps. He searched every room in the place, but it was no use. Clayface was gone. He had escaped! The archer cursed himself for having let him get away. He heard the sounds of many people entering the building; the police had arrived. He quickly grabbed his duffel bag from the corner where he had stashed it and ducked into the men’s room to change back to Roy Harper. As he pulled off his boots and gloves, he pondered what had happened. Carlinger, Frontis, and Crump, their three main suspects, had all been absent from the scene when Clayface had struck. Now they would have to get each man to account for his whereabouts at the–

Roy looked down at his right hand, as he was pulling the glove off it. Good Lord, could that be? It was incredible. And yet… there it was, right there, plain as day. Roy’s mouth set in a grim line.

Part Seventeen

“And you say you ran into the observatory to call the police?” the detective asked Roy.

“That’s right,” Roy said. “I remembered later that we had phones out on the set; I guess I panicked.”

“Uh huh. And did you call the police?”

“Well, no,” Roy admitted. “When I got inside, I saw Red Arrow heading for the roof. I figured there was going to be a fight, and I wanted to stay out of it. So I–” Roy glanced at Maggie, who was watching him, listening to his story. “–I hid in the men’s room.”

“Probably a smart move,” the detective said. He turned away from Roy, and questioned his officers.

“Have we rounded up everyone yet?” he demanded.

“Not quite, sir,” a uniformed officer said. “We reached Darwin Crump on his car phone; he’s turned the car around and is coming back here. We’ve got John Carlinger, the director, over there, waiting to talk to you.”

“What about the old guy, Frontis?” the detective demanded.

“He’s in his trailer, according to the girl,” the officer said, indicating Maggie. “It’s locked. We’ve pounded on the door, but nobody’s answered it.”

“Well, get it open!” the detective demanded. “Somebody around here must have a key, right?”

“The head of security has a key to all the trailers,” a prop man pointed out.

While an officer was sent to get the key, Maggie came up to Roy. “Roy, I — I want you to know I understand.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that,” Roy said, not wanting to meet her eyes. God, how he hated lying! “Come on, let’s see why Gene didn’t answer.

“Captain Miller?” one of the officers said. “We got the trailer open. Nobody’s inside, sir.”

The detective turned to Maggie. “I thought you said he was in his trailer.”

“That’s where he told us he was going,” Maggie said.

“That’s right, I was there,” Roy corroborated.

“Captain, I think you’d better take a look,” the officer continued. The detective strolled purposefully toward Frontis’ trailer; Roy and Maggie followed him. They looked inside, and Maggie gasped in awe. The trailer was adorned with mementos of the original Hoodlum Without A Motive; a copy of the original script, a framed lobby card, the original soundtrack album, even a framed photograph of Jack Masters autographed “To Gene: Happy Father’s Day! Your Movie Son, Jack.”

“Oh, wow,” Roy said.

“Looks like a motive to me,” Miller said.

Part Eighteen

The set and observatory grounds were combed, but Gene Frontis was not found. His home was searched and had come up empty. An all-points bulletin was put out for him to be picked up for questioning relating to the murder of Ron Highe.

That night, Red Arrow returned to the observatory. He wasn’t satisfied with the direction of the official police investigation. He had his own avenues to pursue.

As he crept around the darkened movie set, he noticed something. Something only eyes and ears like his, trained by two highly-skilled hunters and honed by years of practice, would pick up. A slight rustling sound, coming from Gene Frontis’ trailer. A dim light, barely enough to be caused by a pencil flashlight, from within the trailer. Red Arrow moved quickly but silently to the trailer. He quietly made his way to the door, drew an arrow, notched it to his bowstring, and kicked open the door.

A scream from within almost made him let the arrow fly.

“You?” he demanded. Then, he remembered that Red Arrow had not met Maggie O’Toole. “You were on the set today, weren’t you? What are you doing here?”

“I’m trying to prove that the police are after the wrong man,” Maggie said defiantly. “There’s no way Gene Frontis could be doing this! They won’t listen to me, so I’m here on my own!”

“I’m sure Mr. Frontis would appreciate your faith, Miss,” Red Arrow said, “but I think you should leave the detective work to the professionals.”

“Oh, please,” Maggie said. “Come off it, R–”

Suddenly, a muffled explosion sounded from outside on the set. Followed by another, and another; and flickering orange light spilling into the darkened trailer.

“Fire!” Red Arrow declared, running out onto the set. He found the prop van, Sally Vreedy’s trailer, and the sound truck all ablaze. He quickly drew and fired a volley of fire-extinguisher arrows, to put out the blazes. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Maggie emerge from the trailer.

“Call the fire department!” he shouted to her. “And the police!”

“Look!” Maggie cried, pointing up. Clayface stood on the roof, hurling firebombs down onto the set.

Part Nineteen

“Not this time,” Red Arrow promised himself. He fired a net arrow that covered the small gap where the telescope emerged from the observatory, plugging that exit for the villain. Then he fired a fork-pronged arrow that buried itself in the door, one prong in the door itself and one in the door jamb, thus holding the door closed. Red Arrow then fired a line-arrow that struck just below the lip of the observatory roof, and, quick as a mountain-goat, he scaled the side of the wall. When he reached the top, he saw Clayface disappear into the rooftop door and gave chase. Once through the door he saw the villain racing madly down the stairs. He fired a grease-slick arrow ahead of the fleeing Clayface, and it burst into thick black liquid four steps below him. Clayface could not halt his descent in time; his feet hit the oil slick, and he tumbled down the rest of the way, heels over head, landing in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs. Red Arrow descended on an arrow-line to meet him at the bottom.

Maggie waited anxiously outside for the police to come, for Red Arrow to come out, for anything to happen. Finally, the door burst outward with a mighty kick, the arrow holding it shut popped from its frame. Red Arrow walked out with Clayface slung over his shoulder. The villain was unconscious, but Red Arrow had taken the precaution of binding him with an arrow-line anyway.

“You called the police?” he asked Maggie.

“They’re on their way,” she said anxiously. “You got him!”

“Yes,” Red Arrow said simply. “He won’t hurt anyone else again.”

“Let’s get that makeup off him, so we can see who he is!” Maggie said, as Red Arrow set his burden down on the ground.

“That won’t be necessary,” the archer said.

Part Twenty

“What?” Maggie demanded. “Not necessary? I want to see who he is! I want to prove he’s not Gene Frontis!”

“He’s not,” Red Arrow assured her. “This man is Jack Masters.”

Maggie gaped silently for a moment. “Th-that’s impossible!” she stammered. “Jack Masters died thirty years ago!”

“No,” Red Arrow said. “He didn’t die in that car crash. He was horribly disfigured, too horribly for plastic surgery to completely repair. His career died, but he lived on to spend the remainder of his life in the shadow of his own former greatness. I suppose it drove him insane. The announcement that his greatest achievement would be remade was too much for him.”

“He — he told you all this?” Maggie asked, dumbfounded.

“He didn’t have to,” Red Arrow said. “I figured it out after our first fight on the rooftop. I punched him hard in the face; but when I examined my glove later there was no makeup residue on it. So I figured out that he wasn’t wearing any; that was really his face.”

Maggie was silent for a moment, staring down at the cruel killer who had once been a matinee heartthrob. “What about Gene?” she asked weakly.

“I believe Masters kidnapped Gene, probably killed him, to divert suspicion from himself,” Red Arrow theorized. “He figured to give the police a suspect to chase, to keep people from asking the right questions about Jack Masters.”

“Damn,” Maggie hissed. “That’s probably the saddest, cruelest story I’ve ever heard.”

“Hollywood created an icon,” Red Arrow said, “but he was all too human in the end. He couldn’t stand not living up to the image he had created.”

Maggie smiled at him. “Pretty clever… Roy.”

It was Red Arrow’s turn to gape. “W-what?”

“Oh, come on,” she said. “How dumb do you think I am? You run into the building, and two minutes later Red Arrow is on the roof? Then Red Arrow disappears, and you’re back? And all those probing questions you asked about who would have a motive. Friends in law enforcement! Yeah, friends like the Patriot and Nuklon, I’ll bet!” Maggie was grinning. “Don’t worry, Roy, I’ll keep your secret. At least… for awhile.”

“Awhile?” Red Arrow asked. “How long?”

“As long as you continue to make me happy,” she said coyly. “You know, there’s a George Raft festival at the Odeon tomorrow night…”