LAMONT WAITED FOR a few minutes before darting across the street back to Maddy and Jessica’s apartment. He watched. He listened. When the street was deserted, he crossed. But as he approached the door to the building, two men emerged from the adjacent alley. Lamont froze.
The men were both weaving, and slurring their words. In a split second, Lamont decided he couldn’t take any chances. Not this close to home. The men looked up. Lamont took a breath. He concentrated. He vanished.
The men saw Lamont. Then they didn’t. They stood unsteadily in the middle of the street, too pickled to notice the door to the building nearby opening on its own.
One man squinted into the darkness. “Did you just see…?”
“I…uhh…nope,” said his buddy. It wasn’t the first time his eyes had played tricks on him after a long night. “Damned hooch,” he muttered.
Inside the vestibule, Lamont rested a few minutes to catch his breath before tackling the stairs. He was hoping Jessica would be awake so he could ask her about the photo of Margo. But when he got to the top and opened the door, Maddy was the only one still up.
“Make any new friends?” she asked, with a sarcastic edge. She hadn’t been pleased when Lamont insisted on going out alone. And like a nervous parent, she’d waited up.
“Is your grandma asleep?” asked Lamont.
“Snoring like a chainsaw,” said Maddy. Bando stirred from his blanket and scurried over to nuzzle Lamont’s leg. Lamont gave him a long scratch on the head.
“Come with me,” said Maddy. “I need to show you something.”
Maddy led him to her sleeping area, a space smaller than one of Lamont’s old walk-in closets. It was separated from the living room by a flimsy fabric curtain. Maddy reached under her bed and pulled out a battered cardboard box.
“My private collection,” she said.
Maddy sat on the bed, the box on her lap. Lamont sat down next to her. Inside the box was a stack of yellowed magazines, each with the same header in bold type: The Shadow.
Maddy pulled the top magazine from the pile. The cover illustration showed a swarthy man in a black leather coat and a wide-brimmed hat. A long red scarf covered his lower face. He brandished a heavy-duty pistol.
“So,” said Maddy. “That’s you?”
Lamont shifted awkwardly on the bed. He remembered those stories, and they embarrassed him. Dime store trash. He’d only read a few.
“Inspired by me, obviously,” said Lamont, choosing his words carefully. “But I never dressed like that. Never even owned a hat. Never carried that ridiculous gun. I guess they had to jazz things up to goose their sales.”
“Okay, then,” said Maddy. “What about this?” She dug under the jumble of magazines and pulled out something that looked like a compact radio. Maddy pressed a button marked play. A somber organ melody played, and then a man started speaking, his voice clear and resonant, even through the tiny speaker:
“The Shadow is in reality Lamont Cranston, a wealthy young man about town. Years ago, in the mysterious Orient, Cranston learned a magical secret—the hypnotic power to cloud men’s minds so they cannot see him. Cranston’s friend and companion, the lovely Margo Lane, is the only person who knows to whom the voice of the invisible Shadow belongs!”
The radio show. Lamont remembered that, too.
“Also inspired by me,” he said. “And Margo, of course.”
Lamont recalled that at first he’d been flattered that a radio show would be based on his detective business. But he’d also been worried about the publicity interfering with his actual cases. It was hard to be discreet with your name on the radio every week. On top of that, the announcer’s voice drove him up the wall.
“Why do you have all this stuff?” he asked.
Maddy pressed pause. “I told you. I’m a huge fan of The Shadow. I figured you were too. I assumed that’s why you chose the name. I mean, who just decides to call himself Lamont Cranston?”
Lamont bristled.
“I am Lamont Cranston!” he said, trying to keep his voice down. “How many times do I have to tell you?”
Maddy pressed play again. “Okay, Lamont,” she said, “what about this?” It was the same man’s voice again, now even more dramatic.
“Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?” A pregnant pause, and then—“The Shadow knows!”
The announcer gave the word Shadow a distinctive inflection, the verbal equivalent of a knowing wink. Then, after another pause, he added a low, maniacal laugh. Lamont scoffed.
“I never laughed like that in my life,” he said. “Total showbiz nonsense!”
Maddy slapped the magazine on top of the machine and held them both up in front of Lamont’s face.
“So you’re telling me that this guy is made up, but you’re real?” said Maddy. “Why should I believe that? Why shouldn’t I think you’re just a crazy rich guy who thought he found a way to live forever and picked a famous name so nobody in the future would know who the hell he really was?”
Lamont had to admit it all sounded absurd. A fictional detective with magical superpowers. Who was actually based on a real person. Who somehow came out of a deep sleep after more than a hundred years! If one of his old clients had told him that tale, he wouldn’t have believed it either. Lamont reached over and pushed the cardboard box aside.
“Put that junk away,” he said. “I’ll tell you the real story.”