Men of Mystery

Granite City

In Granite City, one of the major cities along the US eastern coast, winter had not abated. Snow banks ran along the edges of sidewalks and most roads as the inhabitants of the metropolis went about their lives.

Near the center of town, across from City Hall, was the Granite City Police Building. It was an impressive monolith of stone, made from the very stone that had given the city her name. Agent 12 looked up at it and noticed all the soot that stained the front of the facade.

He sighed and climbed the forty-odd low stone stairs to enter the structure. As entered the staircase was visible to his immediate left. He took it and climb more steps to the second floor. The smell of oak or walnut came to him and he assumed it was a residual odor of the finely carved banister that ran along the side of the staircase.

Upon reaching the second floor, he saw a door at the end of the hall. The door's middle section had been replaced with frosted glass and the name James Gyreman, Police Commissioner had been painted on it.

He knocked three times. A voice from the other side said, "Come in."

Agent 12 opened the door and stepped into Gyreman's office. It was a large space with a nice rug and a large desk. In front of the desk were two large, padded green chairs. A bookcase lined one wall and the opposite wall had large windows that let in plenty of light.

Gyreman, a gray-haired veteran of the police force, sat behind the desk, smoking a pipe as he read a report. He looked up as Agent 12 entered.

"What brings you here?" asked the commissioner.

"I understand the city's crime rate has dropped." The federal agent sat in one of the large green chairs.

"That's true. At the start of the year a vigilante known as the Black Cloak began tying up crooks and racketeers in town. It has made arresting them and putting them in jail much easier. The result is the crime rate is down. Criminals in Granite City are scared of him."

"Interesting," said the agent. "Who is he? Where did he come from?"

Gyreman shrugged. "I don't know. But officially he's as dangerous as any of the people he captured. Unofficially, I'm glad he's helping out."

"But there's nothing special about him, is there?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Cerulean over in Central City is impervious to bullets."

"Oh, I see what you mean. No, I've seen no evidence of anything like that."

"All right. Well, if you do, contact me."

"Of course."

Agent 12 stood and went out the way he came in. Gyreman returned to his report. It was on the Black Cloak. He was seen last night perched high atop the Granite City Tower, as if listening to the sounds of the night.

Clearly he was a strange fellow.

The Commissoner's phone rang. "Hello?"

"Commissioner, there's been a murder. John Lambert, the chemical maker was found dead."

"By whom?"

"His son, Jake Lambert. We've got him here for questioning."

"Be right there."

Gyreman stood and went downstairs into an interrogation room. He rapped on the door twice and opened it. There, in the room, was Lambert, a scrawny man looking haggard sitting by a small table. The Commissioner came in and sat down.

"Well," the commissioner began, "what do you have to say for yourself?"

"Only that I found my father dead in his study and the safe open."

"When was this?"

"Last night, about 10 in the evening."

"Did he have any enemies?"

"Only his former partners, Crane, Rogers, and Stryker."

"I see. Okay, we'll question them. Stay here until we learn more."

Gyreman left Lambert alone in the room and headed for his car, a green and white Chevrolet. He got in the vehicle and, after a short drive across town, came to the home of Sebastian Crane. He got out of his car and rang the doorbell.

The door opened and a man in a dark suit cried, "Heavens. You're just in time. Master Crane has been murdered. Call the police."

"I'm police Commissioner Gyreman. What happened?"

"I don't know," said the other man. "I found him in his study dead this morning."

"And you are?"

"Jefferies, his manservant."

Immediately, using the radio in his car, Gyreman called in the murder. Soon detectives drove up to examine the crime scene.

"It's all yours boys," said the Commissioner as he got in his car and drove to the home of Patrick Rogers. He ran the doorbell but got no answer. No one was at home it seemed.

Gyreman sighed and went to the Stryker chemical factory. At he drove up he saw the dark figure of the Black Cloak on the rooftop. From this distance it was hard to discern much about the man except he would a large black cloak or cape and a cowl that covered the top half of his head.

How is he involved in this? thought Gyreman.

But before Gyreman could move, the dark figure was gone. The Commissioner got on his radio again. "All units come to the Stryker chemical factory at once. Repeat, all units come to the Stryker chemical factory at once."

Soon a dozen or more cars had arrived and when the police were ready to go inside. But even as they started in, the Black Cloak reappeared on the roof.

Fearing the worst, Gyreman led his men inside only to find Patrick Rogers only in the main production area.

"Thank Heavens, you're all here," said Rogers. "But you're too late."

"What do you mean," asked Gyreman.

"Albert Stryker tried to kill me and he would've succeeded too but the Black Cloak swooped down from the skylight and rescued me. Then Stryker tried to murder him, but the Black Cloak defended himself in the fight Stryker was knocked into a vat of acid."

"But why would Stryker want to kill you?" asked Gyreman.

"He was in the process of buying our shares of the chemical factory. By killing me, Crane, and Lambert, he would get control of the factory without paying."

"Clever," said Gyreman. "But not clever enough. We'll need your statement down at police headquarters."

"Of course," said Rogers. "Thank heaven for the Black Cloak."

"Yes," said the Commissioner idly. He slowly walked back to his car. There was a lot of paperwork to do now.