Men of Mystery

Domestic Dispute

The next day dawned bright and clear with a blue sky and a few wispy clouds like feathers painted against the firmament. The air was unscented despite the traffic of cars and buses. Birds chirped randomly as the sun shone, promising a good day.

Craig Crent, a reporter for the Daily Record, headed for work across town. He was a tall lean man dressed in blue sport coat, a white shirt, gray trousers, a yellow necktie and brown fedora. As he walked out of his apartment building, he saw his neighbor, Charlie, reading the newspaper.

"Did you hear?" asked Charlie. "The Cordyn girl was pardoned. Apparently she's innocent."

Craig frowned with surprise. "Can I see the paper?"

Charlie handed it to him and the reporter adjusted his glasses and stared at the headlines: Cordyn Pardoned!

Satisfied that he was up-to-date on breaking news Craig continued on to the Daily Record skyscraper. The lobby of the building was all polished marble with large frescos on the walls depicting scenes from American history: Columbus landing in the Caribbean, Washington crossing the Delaware, the signing of the Declaration of Independence, the attack on Fort Sumter, the sinking of the US Maine.

Crent took the elevator to the 8th floor and stepping out into the newsroom, a large space crammed with desks, typewriters clacking, telephones ringing, paper, and the noise of many people talking, conversing, and doing their jobs. Going to his desk, Crent found a note from the editor-in-chief, George Taylor.

I have an assignment for you. Stop by my office so we can discuss it.

Craig wasted no time and walked over to Taylor's office. He knocked on the open door. "You wanted to see me?"

Taylor looked up from the copy he was editing at the first hint of noise. He was a middle-aged man with gray hair slicked back and a dark business suit. "Yes, Craig. Sit down."

Crent obeyed and sat in a chair that was just in front of the desk that Taylor sat behind. The editor leaned forward and asked, "Have you heard of Cerulean?"

"No, who's that?"

"Reports are streaming in that a fellow with tremendous strength named Cerulean actually exists. I'm assigning you to cover these reports. Think you can handle it?"

"No problem, Chief. If I can't find out about this fellow, no one can."

Crent left the office and returned to his desk just as Watkins, the assignment editor, called to him, "Crent, we've just got a tip about a wife beating. 321 Maple Ave."

"On my way."

A few minutes later the mysterious figure of Cerulean barged into the small house at 321 Maple Ave. As he came running in, he saw a man standing over a woman, who lay cringing and bruised on the floor. The man held a strap in his hand and raised it to strike another blow. He wore a simple white t-shirt stained with sweat and grease and dark trousers.

"Stop right there," commanded the newcomer.

The man turned to glance at the stranger. "Who the hell are you?"

"Your worst nightmare," replied Cerulean lifting the man into the air with one hand.

"Put me down," cried the wife-beater.

"My pleasure," returned Cerulean as he threw the man against the wall.

Unfazed, the man drew a knife and lunged at Cerulean. "You asked for it." Bringing the blade down on his opponent's neck, he was expecting to slice up this interloper, but the metal portion snapped in his hand. The man's eyes widened in disbelief and his mouth fell open.

Cerulean smiling grimly said, "Now you'll get a lesson you'll never forget."

But before he could move the man fainted. In the distance police sirens sounded.

"Time to go," murmured Cerulean.

The police arrived a short time later to find Craig Crent looking around.

"What are you doing here?" one officer asked the reporter.

"I just got here and found the place in shambles. It looks like Cerulean was here to teach this man a lesson. His wife needs an ambulance."

"Right. We'll arrest the husband and get the woman to the hospital."

Satisfied that he had all the relevant facts, Crent returned to the newsroom and typed up the story.