Secret Basement Lab Alphabet: I is for INVISIBLE HOOD

I is for INVISIBLE HOOD

Don’t let anyone fool ya ‘bout the nature of the crooked types. They’re all bums. Every one o’ them. I should know, I never been anything but. That load of bilge about that French character Lupin and him being a gentleman thief: it’s all bunkum for kids’ books. Crooks are crooks. People who have no scruples taking what they want when they want it because they feel they’re entitled to it. You gotta be a cold stone to not having feelings about it, but that’s just how some are wired.

All the same, I felt something alright all those months holed up in that rotten attic in that egghead flophouse over on Westdale Avenue. Nobody came knockin’ on that door, and the doc was only too keen to have someone around to talk to who could at least grunt back, unlike all them guinea pigs and rats and the rest of those miserable animals all caged up like they were.

That began to chafe of me, too. At first it was just the stink of the hay and the feces, enough to make a guy want to puke. Then I started to feel sorry for ‘em. Months later, after I seen the doc’s tests turn nasty; the way a rat’s pink toes would kick as it lost its site, began clawing at its eyes until its face was a bloody, pulpy mess. Or the way one of ‘em would shriek and turn on its side like it’d just been sucker-punched and rolled; then lay still. Yeah, it was a rat. But it had been alive, hadn’t it? Never did no harm to nobody. Not like me.

I guess I should’ve seen it coming when I woke up one morning, tied tighter than a ship’s rigging, and my left arm knotted off like some kinda dope fiend.

“Good morning, Luther,” the doc said, all cheery like as if he were setting a plate of waffles down in front of me. Only he didn’t have no waffles. Just a hypodermic needle.

“I don’t see much good about it, doc,” I said. He pricked me without warning. Not that it would have made much difference if he had.

“I think I’ve made the necessary steps to removing the malignancies from the serum,” he said.

I wanted to snap the ropes like the studs in the comic books, but my body and the ropes had different ideas. I wasn’t the Doc Savage type. Nobody was, but yours truly especially.

“The more you struggle,” the doc said, stepping back as if just in case maybe I might be able to free myself, “the faster the serum disseminates through the blood system.”

“I should’ve known there was a catch to the free room and board.”

“Ahh…but if this works, you’ll no longer need to stay here, Luther. You can walk down the street as free as a mailman.”

“You’re batty, doc. Maybe the cops ain’t searchin’ this end of town for me yet, but I can’t just…”

“The police won’t see you, Mr. Preston. No one will.” His voice cut off. I noticed his eyes widen, his jaw sort of hinge down toward his adam’s apple.

“It’s working!” he wailed. “It’s working! Look!”

He grabbed at my left hand. I wadded my fingers in a fist to try and take a swing at him best I could, but then I noticed, as he caught my wrist, that he wasn’t holding anything. I mean, he had my hand, but my hand wasn’t there. Or it was, but I couldn’t see it any.

Soon my whole left arm, that he’d jabbed the silver splinter in, was invisible. The doc backed off and came back with a large mirror on wheels.

“See!” he said. “See! It’s a success!”
            What I could see was my clothes moving around beneath the ropes on the table like they were caught in a draft. More important was what I couldn’t see, which was me. I was there all right, but not so as I could see myself.

“What the hell did you do to me?” I growled. I wanted to beat the smug little sadist to a pulp. Maybe it was worth the jail time just to put this jerk in his place.

“I’ve made a fantastic discovery,” was his reply. “And I’ve improved your situation considerably.”

            He was right. In a sense. If I was invisible, then I could go where I wanted, do what I want, and no one would be the wiser. I’d have to do it starker, which wasn’t my cup o’ coffee, but in my position beggars couldn’t be choosers.

            “Great. You a ghost outta me. What good does that do me wrapped up like a ham on this table?”

            “I’ll let you go, of course. I just needed to make sure you didn’t try to run before I gave you the injection.”

            “And what makes you think that’s a good idea?” I asked, playing devil’s advocate. It wasn’t so smart a move, but then nobody ever accused me of being smart. And color me cynical, but I felt another condition of my release about to come slapping down on me. “What makes you think I don’t wring your neck the second you let me go?”

            “Well, it’s quite simple, Luther. I have to create an antidote. If I don’t, you stay invisible forever.  And I can only assume that that would create some problems, even for a criminal like yourself.”

            He had me there. And it occurred to me that the reason I was on the lam in the first place was on account of that creep Don Dibetto, my ex-boss, putting the finger on me for some hatchet job down at the Widow’s Den. Maybe I could use this invisible gimmick to my advantage.

            “You still with us, Luther?” Doc asked.

            “Yeah, doc. I was just thinking is all. Maybe this ain’t so bad, for the time being. I ain’t no fan of being hustled, or tied down when I’m asleep, but I’ll let it ride for now. You get me the cure for this, and I’ll split and call it even. In the meantime, I got things I’d like to take care of, now that I can leave the house without being tagged by a cop.”

            “Fine,” the doc agreed. “But I’ll need to do a vitals check once a day, just to make sure the serum isn’t having any detrimental health effects.”

            “Agreed. Now cut the ropes, doc. I think it’s time I stretched my legs. I need you to give me a lift somewhere.”

            “Where are we going?”

            “I need a drink. Ever been to the Widow’s Den?”