Giftpiece: Beware The Gold Helmet!

                                                                                  Reach City 1935

The bakery was in shambles, bags of powder and eggshells lay strewn about, the bakery owner wasn’t in much better shape. The man lay prostrate on the floor his lip bloody and his face swollen from the beating he’d received.

Three men loomed over the moaning baker, each wore a gray business suit and a fedora. The middle man who was the largest of the three held a baseball bat.

“We asked ya nicely, it wasn’t much that we asked, just pay up a little insurance.”

This was coming from one of the other men, he had a wiry build and a thin mustache, it gave him the appearance of a feral sewer rat.

“I’m not paying you weasels anything.” The baker moaned, and received a kick in the ribs from the mobster.

“Shut up. Now we’re going to have to make an example out of you. Show what happens to those that don’t pay, see?”

The baker groaned again.

The gangster signaled to the muscleman. “Work him Burton,”

The bat was brought down on the baker’s torso eliciting a sharp cry of pain, the gangster kept up his talk.  

“You think you’re some kind of hero standing up to us? Well I got news for you buddy boy, there ain’t any heroes!”

There was the sudden report of a gunshot, Burton looked down at the red stain that was spreading over his shirt, the gangster crumpled to the floor wheezing as his lungs filled with blood.

“I beg to differ,” A voice said, the voice had an odd distorted quality to it.

The two gangsters turned in surprise and their mouths fell open in shock at what they saw, a figure stood behind the counter, it was dressed in a dark blue suit and a black operatic cape, upon the figures head was a solid gold helmet that covered the face, there were no visible slits or eyehole. There was no doubt the figure could see though, in both hands was a Colt M1902 one of which was smoking still.
The gangsters started to reach in their coats.

“Don’t try it!” The vigilante ordered.

Neither of the gangsters moved any further, because they knew their backdoor man had circled around and was coming behind the figure with a Thompson. There was no creak of boards, squeak of sole or door jingle that gave the man away. Nonetheless, the helmet wearer ducked behind the counter right as the Tommy gun spat flame.

.45 ACP bullets tore through sacks of grain and flour; the gunner growled and started firing through the counter and sent splinters flying in the air. The baker and the other mobsters flung themselves to the ground.

The helmet suddenly popped up from the counter in a different spot than the gunner had thought, there was a stab of flame and a bullet tore into the gangster’s shoulder, the man shouted in pain and fired at the figure. But the wounded shoulder made aiming difficult and the burst of automatic fire was even wilder than before.

The helmet slid along behind the counter, before standing and firing, bullets riddled the mobster’s torso and he fell over dead.

One of the other gangsters suddenly moved to the helmet’s side aiming a snub nosed revolver for the mysteryman’s head. The helmet reacted immediately bashing the barrel of one of his pistols into the wrist of the crook. The revolver fell to the floor but before the Helmet could follow up, the gangster suddenly grabbed his wrists and forced them back. The pistols fell to the floor with a clatter.

“You ain’t so tough,” The gangster smirked, when he suddenly got headbutted by the helmeted head, right in the bridge of the nose.

The man shrieked in pain and staggered back, the helmet followed up with a savate style kick to the torso. The man doubled over in pain, but as the vigilante closed in the mobster suddenly lashed out with a switchblade.

The helmet stepped back as the flash of silver narrowly missed cutting into his gut.

Growling like an animal the mobster lunged forward with the knife.

The vigilante deflected the knife hand down with one hand and with the other punched the criminal in the jaw. The helmet struck again and again with lightning fast punches, the crook’s face and torso took all the punishment, until finally the man collided with a brick oven and slumped down to the floor groaning in pain.

The helmet retrieved the fallen pistols and whirled around on the last gangster. The man in question had the baker in a headlock with a revolver pressed against the temple.

“That’s enough out of you freak!” The gang member hissed.

The odd distorted voice of the helmet spoke again, “You are a coward. Just like all of your kind.”

“Oh you’re breaking my heart!” The man retorted. “You just put those guns down or baker boy here get’s it, got it?”

But the Helmet suddenly fired one of the pistols the bullet tearing through the gunman’s hand, the revolver fell away useless, the baker suddenly broke away as the grip in his throat loosened.

The mobster clutched at his bleeding hand. “How could you have made that shot…? Were his last words, as another shot impacted him right between the eyes.

The fight was over, the baker stared open mouthed at the vigilante.

“You… you saved me!” He stammered.

“I punish those who prey on the innocent.” Helmet responded.

“How can I ever repay you?” The baker asked.

“Don’t ever give in, to scum like these.” The Helmet said with a sweep of a gloved hand.

With that the mysteryman suddenly hauled the gangster that had been beaten up from the brick wall. Slapping the man awake the Helmet pressed him against the wall.

“I have a message for your boss,” The vigilante said.

“Freak,” The man stammered only to get bashed against the wall.

“Listen to me carefully, you tell him this place is under my protection, if he sends anymore of his goons here they’re dead.”

The gangster glared back, “You’re a deadman, Sharkie won’t stand for this!”

“I’ll save him the trouble, I’m coming for him next, now go!” The helmeted man released the crook and gave him a kick to the buttocks to speed him along. The vigilante nodded to the baker and with a swish of the cape ran off into the night.

                                         **

A short time later the helmet returned to the lair. Hands went up to the golden helmet and with a quick tug the vigilante removed the headgear to reveal a round feminine face and rosy red lips, short blonde hair and blue eyes. The woman shrugged out of the padded suit that made her look bulkier and also provided protection from blows and cuts.

She sat down and rubbed at her temple, she glanced at a clock it was almost four in the morning in two hours she’d have to report to the precinct where she worked as a typist.

Leading a double life was hard but for a woman like her it was worth it. Ever since she'd discovered the mystical helmet she'd been fighting crime in all it's forms, the helmet gave her a 360 degree view of her surroundings at all times, very useful. She sighed as she dressed into something more comfortable, when night fell again she was going to pay a mobster a visit.