Ds184 python isle doc, p.6
DS184_Python_Isle.doc, page 6
… with the result that he was thrown to his knees when he reached the basement. Monk loved that elevator!
In the garage, he made his way to a gaudy battered couple in which he promptly roared off.
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Doc Savage: #184- "Python Isle"
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The apish chemist smiled broadly as he drove. He was one of the World's greatest industrial chemists (which made him a near-genius). But he hardly looked or acted the part. His forehead, in fact, was barely an inch high and gave the impression that his nubbin of a head contained only a spoonful of brains.
His pet pig Habeas Corpus (so named to annoy the sensitive lawyer Ham Brooks) added to Monk's comical demeanor.
But these things were deceptive. Monk Mayfair was not only intelligent but also resourceful. And he had to be in order to have been included in Doc Savage's tiny hand. The fact that he resembled (in looks and disposition) a trained ape was but an accident of Life.
He was actually proud of his ugliness. It was his boast (and there was some doubt on the matter inasmuch as Monk was not exactly addicted to the truth) that he came into the world -- unlike other children -- as fuzzy as a baboon. Monk's visage, he discovered, affected women in a remarkably positive fashion. So he had long ago decided it was a definite asset.
Habeas Corpus -- who had been picked up in the course of an Arabian adventure (read "The Phantom
City(#010) ) --was also not what it seemed. It was smarter than most dogs -- a faculty that Monk made full use of. He spent much of his spare time training the pig to do tricks. Some of these were gags aimed at getting Ham Brooks' goat. But others had actually ended up saving the lives of Doc Savage and his men during past trouble.
Monk chuckled to himself as he drove. "This is one time we really put one over on that shyster.
Right, Habeas?"
The shoat sat on the passenger seat with his head out the window like a dog, its ears flapping in the wind.
It seemed to say: "Serves that ambulance chaser right."
Monk laughed. "You said it, hog!"
He was an expert ventriloquist and enjoyed putting disparaging comments about his rival in the pig's mouth.
All in all, Monk Mayfair was easily the most unusual of Doc Savage's five(5) aides of whom Ham Brooks and Renny Renwick were 2 others. The remainder -- like Renny -- were both out of the country presently.
William Harper "Johnny" Littlejohn -- the expert on archaeology and geology -- was at the moment in London where he was filling a special lecture engagement at a famous English university.
Major Thomas J. "Long Tom" Roberts -- the electrical wizard -- was in Europe working on a device which had developed into a personal mania with him. It was an ultrasonic ray which could kill insects archived at http://www.stealthskater.com/DocSavage.htm
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Doc Savage: #184- "Python Isle"
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within its range. When perfected, it would be of inestimable value to farmers as well as probably kick the legs out from under the pesticide industry.
These men -- like all of the Doc Savage's associates -- were the greatest grains in their respective fields. But it was a measure of the Bronze Man's vast prowess that all of them bowed to the superior knowledge of their Leader.
If any action impended, Monk reflected, Renny, Johnny, and Long Tom would probably miss it.
But he was no clairvoyant. So he had no way of knowing that trouble involving Renny Renwick was already brewing.
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The address given to Monk over the phone by the gravelly voice was in Queens, a borough of New York.
He pulled up before a white-frame residence with blue trim. It was deceptively peaceful.
Somewhere birds were winging. There were even a few Spring flowers in the front yard and a white picket fence.
"Stay here, Habeas," Monk directed.
The pig settled back on the seat cushions.
The homely chemist ambled for the front door of the house as if he hadn't a care in the world.
Monk Mayfair was a canny soul. But there wasn't a cautious bone in his body. He was fully aware that he might be walking into a trap of some kind. In his heart, he half hoped that he was. Because that would mean action!
His love of excitement sometimes got in the way of his better judgment.
This was one such time.
Monk
Hearing no sound, he stepped in.
A baseball bat collided with his nubbin of a head!
Monk was not aware that it was a baseball bat because it knocked him flat. he was not rendered unconscious, however. Monk Mayfair possessed a thick skull.
He endeavored to get up. A foot planted itself on the small of his back and exerted force.
Monk -- to his complete bewilderment -- found that he could not rise! "Blazes!" he croaked.
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Doc Savage: #184- "Python Isle"
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He weighed 260 pounds, none of it fat. Yet someone was holding him down with the pressure of only one foot!
"Don't bother, smart guy," a deep powerful voice said above him.
Monk recognized the voice. It was the same one that had called him minus the gravel. Blackbird Hinton would have recognized that voice too.
"I don't wanna hoit you again," it said. The voice had, if anything, a distinctive Bronx accent.
Monk strained upwards. A baseball touched his nose by way of warning.
"You the guy that called me?" Monk wanted to know.
"Dat's me. Bull Pizano."
"Whatcha want?"
"Ya brung dat message?"
"Maybe."
The foot came off Monk's back.
"Let's see it, den," the voice said good-naturedly.
Monk bounced erect with a roar! He loved to fight. And he loved his fights to be noisy.
But this fight wasn't. It was brief.
Before he could get organized, Monk found his legs whacked out from under him by that bat. This time, the voice landed on his back and the foot (a size 14) pressed down on his barrel chest, preventing respiration.
Monk got a good look at his assailant then.
The man who called himself 'Bull Pizano' was aptly dubbed. He looked to weigh in the neighborhood of 300 pounds. From where Monk lay, he might have been anywhere from 6-to-7 feet tall.
His face was a ball of swarthy wax topped by an unruly mass of black hair. His eyes were tiny (like Monk's, somewhat) and held a singularly vicious light. His nose was broad. But naturally broad. It did not appear to have been broken in the past. Monk could almost picture a brass ring fitted through that nose.
Bull Pizano was attired in the fashion associated with the tough gangs that prowled New York before Prohibition. He wore khaki pants and a jersey with horizontal black&white stripes. His arm muscles
bunched like muskmelons. To anyone not in Monk's position, he might have seemed a humorous figure.
Monk made a grab for Pizano's leg. He attempted to upset the giant.
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Doc Savage: #184- "Python Isle"
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But the pillar of a leg would not bulge. Monk's eyes about bugged out of his head and sweat popped onto his minuscule brow before he gave up.
Bull Pizano smiled broadly. "Now I want dat message."
"Come an' get it, Gargantua," Monk invited.
Bull Pizano sighed.
He lifted his foot … picked Monk up by his coat front … and threw him across the room. The latter went through a handy door feet-first. His howl of surprise was followed by a thud!
When the homely chemist found his wits again, he thought he heard birds singing. He
sat up …
… and found that this was true.
The room in which he had landed was full of cages in which yellow canaries were singing.
"This gets screwier an' screwier," Monk muttered.
He found his feet, nearly stepping on the tail of a curious cat. There were other cats in the room, he noticed.
Then Bull Pizano came lumbering into the room. He was very, very close to topping 7 feet, Monk noticed without pleasure. The former grabbed a chair and hefted it in Pizano's direction.
The giant slapped it aside and advanced, his bovine face agrin.
"Ya better not hoit any of my boids if ya know what's good for youse, Mac," he threatened.
Monk ignored the threat. He got a running start and threw himself -- feet forward -- against Pizano's chest. The giant fell with Monk atop him.
"Let's see how you like it," the apish chemist gritted.
Bull Pizano brought his hands up and clapped them over Monk's cauliflowered ears abruptly. This was a particularly painful tactic and elicited a squawl of agony from Monk.
Pizano next hoisted him off his chest by sheer strength. While Monk knelt in pain, Bull Pizano got up and recovered his hardwood bat.
5 men then entered by the front door, having just arrived.
"What's up, Bull?" one of them asked.
"Oh, nuttin' much," Bull told him. "I'm just woikin' this joik over a little. He's da guy dat's got da message Blackboid wants."
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"Oh yeah? C'mon, boys! Let's frisk him!"
They bent down. Monk promptly decked one of them.
The others piled on his apish bulk. He fought back, gaining his feet once more.
The others swiftly drew back with torn coats, bruises, and other minor damage.
"Hey!" one of them demanded. "Just who is this guy?"
Bull laughed. It was a laugh probably like Paul Bunyan's.
"Dat's Monk. One of Doc Savage's boys."
"Uh-oh," a man said. "Count me out of this party. I had a friend who once tangled with that Savage guy. I ain't never heard what happened to him after that."
He promptly left the house in haste.
"Any more of youse boids wanna cut out?" Bull asked.
No one did.
"Okay," Bull said. "Now I'll hold dis monkey and youse guys give him the once-over."
Suiting action to words, he gathered up the hairy chemist in a bear hug and lifted him off the floor while the others gingerly searched his clothes.
Monk clenched his teeth in frustration. But he could do little beyond that. Someone held his legs so he couldn't kick.
The frisking produced a curious pistol of intricate design, some odds&ends …
… but nothing resembling a radiogram. Bull squeezed Monk's thick chest.
"Where's dat message?" he demanded.
Around him, the yellow canaries sang as if they were in the natural habitat. Sunlight streamed through the windows. It was a late Spring day with not a scrap of cloud in the sky.
"Go chase yourself around in a circle," Monk suggested through clenched teeth.
Bull squeezed again, cutting off Monk's air.
"Dis reject from a zoo musta left dat message back at Savage's place," he said. "We got get it."
"Wait a minute, Bull," someone interjected. "We can't go bustin' into Savage's headquarters."
"Why not?"
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Doc Savage: #184- "Python Isle"
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The other looked uncertain.
"Well …" he began.
Then recalling something, he exclaimed: "Hold it! This Monk character is always pallin' around with an overdressed dude named Ham. May we can talk this 'Ham' into bringin' the message here and save ourselves some trouble."
Bull Pizano pondered this for a full minute as if his mind were trying to wrap itself around the idea.
Which -- if appearances were accurate -- might conceivably have been the case.
"Okay," Bull decided.
He put Monk down. The apish chemist almost fell over from dizziness caused by lack of oxygen.
His homely face was crimson.
He steadied himself.
"Blazes," Monk said in a small voice.
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Doc Savage: #184- "Python Isle"
V - The Van Trick
V -- The Van Trick
In all his years with Doc Savage, Monk Mayfair could not recall when he had been so thoroughly bested by a single foe.
The burly chemist was tough. He could bend horseshoes in his bare hands and effortlessly fold a silver dollar in half between thumb and forefinger. Monk was a scrapper and the equal of few men outside of Doc Savage.
Yet, in this comical giant of a man who dressed like a street tough of 2 decades gone by, Monk discovered an opponent who not only had fought him to a standstill but also could actually manhandle him as if he were a child.
Just the realization of that sobering fact left Monk a little dazed. For the moment, he was out of fight and knew it.
Bull Pizano pushed Monk to a telephone stand. The apish chemist did not resist. He fell into the chair heavily.
"Get dat Ham guy down here wit' dat message. And no tricks, see!" Bull rumbled.
"Yeah, yeah," Monk squeaked.
His voice had resumed its normal childlike tone. Actually, it was more of a croak.
Monk picked up the handset … then hesitated.
"One of you guys got a smoke?" he inquired. "I sure could use one right about now."
"No stallin'," Bull said warningly.
Someone threw Monk a cigarette package and a book of matches.
Monk speared a cigarette in his mouth and applied match flame. Then he fiddled with the receiver hook (it was a French-type phone) and got his party.
"Ham?" he rapped. "This is Monk."
There was a brief pause.
"Dry up and listen, shyster. Can you come over to Queens and give me a hand with somethin'?"
He supplied the address.
"Hurry it up, will ya! And bring that radiogram for Doc, too. It might be too important to leave lyin'
around."
Monk abruptly terminated the conversation by hanging up. In a loud voice, he said something unintelligible.
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Doc Savage: #184- "Python Isle"
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"What?" Bull Pizano demanded. "What're you sayin'?"
"I said he's on his way like you wanted," Monk said innocently.
Bull rubbed his bluish jaw. His bovine face looked suspicious.
"It didn't sound like you wuz sayin' dat to me," he rumbled.
"What do you expect with all these goofy birds makin' such a racket!" Monk retorted. "I can barely hear myself think."
Just then, an orange tabby jumped onto Monk's lap. Taken by surprise, he brushed him off. Not gently. But not with any particular violence, either.
Bull Pizano, however, fell into a dark rage.
:Why you …." he choked. "Lay a mitt on one of my kits will ya!"
He flew at Monk with his hardwood bat raised high.
The homely chemist -- not expecting such a reaction -- was slow to respond. The flailing bat caught him on his bullet head and he and the chair in which he sat both collapsed.
Monk suddenly sprawled in a nest of kindling, out cold.
"Dat'll show dat wise guy," Bull muttered. "No one lays a finger on either my kits or my boids if he knows what's good for him."
"Whew!" one of the thugs whispered to a pal. "Bull sure is cracked on the subject of those animals of his."
"Yeah," the other confided. "He thinks they're his friends. I seen him lay a guy's skull open once for accidentally stepping on a cat's tail."
The first man examined his feet warily to see that there were no cats in tail-stepping-on range.
It was probably that risk -- and the attendant danger of incurring big Bull Pizano's wrath -- which caused one of the thugs to offer a suggestion.
"Hey Bull," he said. "Why don't we go get that 'Ham' character now. We can snatch him in traffic when he least expects it."
"Yeah," ventured another. "He might suspect a trap when he arrives. But not before then. This ape will stay on ice for a while. Besides, I got an idea how we can this 'Ham'. It's goofy. But it could work."
Bull considered. Again, it was plain to see that this simple giant's mental machinery operated slowly.
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Doc Savage: #184- "Python Isle"
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"Okay," he decided. "Let's go."
They went.
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Ham Brooks was perfectly aware that his friend and rival -- Monk Mayfair -- was a prisoner in Queens. He knew this because Monk had told him so.
The message had been relayed in a peculiar language spoken in the so-called Civilized World only by Doc Savage and his 5 aides. The tongue was the speech of the ancient Mayan civilization of Central America.
The Bronze Man and his men had learned the language from survivors of the Mayan race who lived
-- lost to the World -- in an inaccessible valley in remote Central American mountains.
Few outside Doc's little group were aware of it. But this lost Valley was his source of fabulous wealth. The canyon held Gold. It was the treasure lode of ancient Maya. The descendants of that race (whose civilization rivaled that of old Egypt) mined the Valley.
There was a powerful radio receiving set in the Valley. When he needed funds, Doc Savage had but to broadcast at a certain hour on a 7th day. A few days later, a gold-laden burro caravan would come out of the supposedly inaccessible spot. The cargo (usually running into the millions) was always deposited in Doc's account in a Central American bank.
