A The Shadow / Green Hornet crossover story
by Elsa Bibat
Disclaimer: The Shadow was created by Walter Gibson; its characters are copyrighted by Conde Nast Publications. The Green Hornet was created by George W. Trendle and James Jewell. They are used without permission.
In a forgotten part of Central Park in New York stands a monument to heroes long dead.
It was near fifty years ago, on a July day in the year 1951, that they fought
a battle in the streets and skies of the great metropolis. A twin battle was
fought on the West Coast in San Francisco, and a smaller monument stands there
also. But here, in this city where they lived and breathed and died, their greatest
But Fate had dealt him another hand.
Britt Reid sighed as he adjusted his mask and fedora, wrinkled and calloused hands doing practiced motions as he squirmed in his seat. He currently rode in the latest version of what most people in the know would have called the Black Beauty. In the driver's seat, the latest in the line of his faithful manservants drove the car with practiced ease. The car sliced into the night like a silent knife. Looking out, he gazed upon the monument again. The instructions were to circle the park three times, making a point of passing the monument. The peculiar positioning forced the car to slow down every time they passed that position. Reid smiled. He had seen this done before. Sixty years and two generations later, whoever was wearing the hat and cloak was still doing it.
There was a click at the car door. He turned his head to watch darkness flow inside the vehicle and close the door again with a click. All it took was an eyeblink. Kato had not even noticed. An eyeblink and the darkness settled into a familiar figure. Slouch hat pulled low, hands hidden within the cloak's folds, the Shadow had arrived.
"Good evening, Miss Allard." His voice was the rasp of rusty steel and his wrinkled lips formed a smile. He could see Kato look up, finally seeing the intruder, returning his eyes to the road with a wave of his gloved hand. A chuckle erupted from the woman seated beside him. Her family had that irritating urge to laugh and it seemed that she was no exception.
"Actually, it's Cranston-Wentworth. Though Allard is good enough." Gloved hands took off the hat, and she ran a hand through her short hair. He could see the eyes that had earlier burned with power to lose their strange shine. The girasol set into her ring shimmered from red to blue.
"Ah. Wrong guess, then. Though Cranston was number two in the list. Wentworth was number three. You have a rather distinguished family tree."
"Thank you, Mr. Reid. My grandfathers had many things to say about you also."
"Yes, I would think they had." He removed the mask and fedora. "My condolences, of course."
A bittersweet smile appeared on her lips. The fire in her eyes seemed to waken for a moment before they subsided. "I thank you again, Mr. Reid. I know for a fact that they are in a better place. At least, one of them is."
He tried to arch an eyebrow at that statement, but his facial muscles failed him. So he just settled for a knowing smile. Conversations like these were what he loved in this particular hobby of his. He shook his head and dove straight into business. "I would assume that there is a reason for this meeting." It was early yet, and his guest obviously wanted to make most of the night as he distastefully noted the telltale bulges of several holstered guns.
She smiled. "You are getting old, Mr. Reid."
"I haven't noticed." The old man's response was accompanied by the roll of eyes, as if listening to a statement that he had already heard and was determined not to hear.
"You have. It has been three months since you got shot, and you are still not recovered."
Reid winced in remembrance. A simple sting operation gone sour. Punks these days were a lot more trigger-happy than they used to be.
The young woman nodded as if she had read his mind. "It is a miracle that you have survived at all. An incredible combination of genetics, physical conditioning, luck and smart thinking have enabled you to survive this long. But most men in their ninth decade cannot run around facing the dangers we face, inspite of having a master martial artist for a bodyguard. Even if he is a grandmaster of the What was the name ? Ah, yes Musabetsu Kakuto Ryuu, isn't it?" The young lady had a rather large grin on her face as she looked to the man driving the Black Beauty.
Kato looked up at the rearview mirror and smiled that cocky, crooked smile of his, blue eyes twinkling with amusement. "Sorry, ma'am. I think you got the wrong guy."
Britt didn't know anything about his erstwhile butler/chauffer other than the fact that he came recommended by an old friend of his from Japan. The statement was so smooth that it could have been true either way.
The Shadow just shook her head with a little knowing smile on her lips. "You really should check out your friend here, Mr. Reid. He has quite a few individuals of the feminine persuasion looking for him."
"Well, they're looking for the wrong guy then, miss."
The young lady gave Kato an appraising look then continued, "He's good. You might consider—"
Kato beat her to the punch. He was pretty sharp in his own right, and Britt knew what this meeting was about since the moment the girl talked about his age. "No way, lady. I can kick booty pretty well, but I don't got the brains to run this gig. Besides, it'll ruin the schtick that the boss has been running for the past seven decades."
Britt nodded in agreement and looked at the young lady. "I'm guessing that Kato's right on the spot, isn't he?"
"Most of the individuals in our particular line of work are worried about you, Hornet."
"Are you saying I should get out? You know as well as I do that once you're in, you can't get out. Except if you die or undergo a reasonable facsimile of dying."
The Shadow smiled. "That could be arranged. But it would be better if someone were to fill in. The FBI is worried about what would happen to the East Coast if the most powerful 'gang boss' suddenly disappears."
"More like a replacement. Admit it, Hornet, you're getting too old for this shit."
Reid chuckled. "And who do you think can fill my shoes? He's got to be smart as a whistle, sharp as razor, and have a little streak of larceny in him."
"It could be a her, actually. I've brought a few personnel files I'd like you to look at "
Joe Yazzie didn't know what hit him and his gang until the door opened.
One moment, they were planning the perfect heist. Killian's Jewelry down Forty-second was getting lax in security and they had this guy on the inside, see? There was going to be major delivery in the coming week and they had a lock on it. Entry and exit, everything was fixed. The crew was handpicked. Everybody had a good rep and there were no nutjobs or screwups in this one. It was going to go off like clockwork.
Then, this guy in black drops from the ceiling and goes all Bruce Lee on them. A kick here, a punch there, like a fucking typhoon and all their freaking guns were gone — plus, Hacket from Jersey was puking his guts out on the floor. The guy now had a weird thing in his hand like those ninja dudes had and those baby blues of his were just daring them to move.
No one moved.
The door opened slowly and she walked in. "Oh shit."
The first thing that they noticed was the color. Green. From that Frank Sinatra
hat to the slacks, the color was green. Black gloved hands fixing each other
up, tight leather being pulled tighter. The shiny black-heeled boots made her
taller. But they knew who she was. At least, they knew what that green meant.
"Mr. Yaschiltz?" No one knew Yazzie's name but the Feds. But she obviously knew.
Damn! Damn! Damn! They told me it was clear! That the turf was clean! Free action all the way! No chance of hi— her coming in.
"Joseph Yaschiltz?" The frown was deeper and the eyes were harder.
"Y-yeah." Stronger now. Have to be strong. "That's me."
"You're operating in my uncle's territory. He doesn't like that. He likes everything to be under his control whenever it's in his territory. Since he's kind of getting old, he's decided that I should have a personal hand in his business. You do know my uncle, don't you? Maybe you don't, and I have to introduce myself. Hell, I'll introduce myself anyway."
Joe was sweating buckets as a shark-like grin appeared on the woman's lips.
"I am the Green Hornet."
Author's notes: Yeah, I know. Barely a tinge of anime. But, hey, part of the Dance sequence. ^_^
Anyway, I salvaged most of it from an old fic of mine that never got finished or released, which was a Ranma/Green Hornet crossover. So that is not Nabiki. ^_^ It's someone in a Nabiki wig. ^_-
Anyway, so as to clear up the next order of appearances, below are the next fic where these characters above show up, a tradition for these stories beginning now:
The Shadow will return in "Iron Crown".
The Green Hornet and Kato will return in "Dances Set to The Music Of Time: A Modern Waltz".
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