Fire Under the Mountain

The Reporter:

The Reporter:

Doyle paced up and down the hall of the hospital. He’d counted out five paces to one side of Helena’s door, six paces to the other. He would’ve gone five each side but felt that might’ve been strange, also at the end of the fifth step, there was a mirror at number six. Doyle couldn’t stand looking at, the dark rings under his eyes and the ashy color of his skin, which made him look like he belonged in the morgue. Add to the fact he still wore his tattered union uniform disguise, that resembled the walking wounded in the battle of San Juan Hill.

Doctor Carlyle had been correct, the two women waited for him when he arrived at the hospital. Of course, the doctors at the hospital wanted to admit him after they stitched up his arm and replaced the pitiful bandage that Helena had wrapped around it. However, Doyle would have none of that.

He had a gut feeling something strange was going on in the city. Sister Ping was only the beginning, he had a habit of sniffing out crap before he stepped in it, and right now he felt the whole pile of it heading his way.

“Inspector,” the skinny reporter called from down the hall.

“Technically it’s detective, but I’m not going to yell at you too much. I’m glad you could make it.”

“Anything for a story, you should know that by now.”

“I know, that’s why I asked you here.” Doyle motioned for the reporter to follow him into an empty room he had already inspected while he was pacing the halls.

The reporter grinned widely thinking he might get a scoop on all the other schmucks out there running the streets.

Once inside the empty room, Doyle closed the door behind them. “I’m going to suggest an information trading enterprise. If anyone asks me about it, I’ll deny ever having this conversation. You can’t quote me on any information I give you.”

“Kind of a quid pro quo?”

“You might say that. I think we might be able to help each other keep the streets a little safer. But we have to work this the right way, or both of our necks will end up in a noose.”

“What information did you have for me?”

“First put your little book away and let’s just talk.”

The reporter did as he was asked, slipping his notebook into his inside jacket pocket. “What’s on your mind detective?”

“Which paper do you work for?”

“I work for the San Francisco Inquirer.”

“Not too big of a rag. You and I both know something strange is happening on the streets.”

“I agree with you, something supernatural is going on.”

“A woman by the name of Sister Ping, was responsible for the murders and mutilations of the women dropped on the border between Chinatown and the Barbary Coast. We don’t have a motive yet, and Sister Ping is on the run.”

“When you say you’re going to give me information you don’t pussyfoot around. What do you want from me?”

“You strike me as a reporter who goes where the story takes you, no matter how insane. I’m sure you have stories you haven’t been able to print because your editor thought they were just too bizarre. I want you to keep me in the loop on those stories.”

“You’re going to give me information no one else can get, and all I have to do is tell you about my crazy dead stories I have hidden in my desk?”

“I became a copper to protect the city. From what I can tell there’s a lot going on that isn’t being investigated. I think a certain segment of our population is underserved, and it’s time for someone to start looking out for the little guy.”

“And you’re that someone,” the reporter said shaking his head slowly. “You know there’s not a lot of people who are going to believe any of the stories I give you.”

“Some of the stuff I could tell you, you wouldn’t believe either. What’s your name anyway?”

“I write under the byline, Carl Darren.”

“Well Carl, I hope this is the start of something productive for the city.”

“I hope it helps keep the city safe and makes me some money. You know my boss Mister Beast says, ‘if it bleeds it leads,’ you get me some salacious information, and we can make the headlines.”

Doyle shook his head slowly. “Not trying to make you rich. I’m just trying to keep the city safe.” He reached for the door handle to leave their secret meeting. “Did you say Beast? Isn’t he one of the richest men in the country?”

“No, you’re thinking of John Beast his father, Jacob just took over the Inquirer two years ago.”

Doyle nodded, opened the door, ended the meeting, and almost ran right into Professor Merryall.

“Good God man, you look as if you just crawled out of your grave.” Mister Wizard took a step back, the shock of Doyle’s appearance almost too much to bear.”

Doyle half laughed at The Professor’s summation of his current looks. “Your comment might be closer to reality than you think.” Doyle placed his arm around the man’s shoulder and started walking away from the nurse’s station.

“How much do you know about liquid compounds?” Doyle continued as he got farther out of earshot.

“I know enough, how to research what’s in most substances, why?” The Professor couldn’t help but give his beard a little tug at the prospect of a new riddle to solve.

Doyle reached into the left pocket of his uniform disguise and pulled out an exceedingly small vial and tucked it into the man’s right hand pocket. He then placed his finger to his lips.

“What is it, and where did you get it?” The Professor couldn’t help but ask.

“I don’t know what it is, and I got it in a dream. However, I think the liquid and that little vial saved my life, if you could replicate it we might need it again.” Doyle patted The Professor’s pocket while he talked.

“I’ll get on it, but you need to stop by the workshop. I have something new I want you to test for me. I think you’ll find it intriguing.”

One thing guaranteed about The Professor’s inventions, they were always intriguing.