Wes woke up. He had to get his clothes out of the bathroom and figure out what he

  wanted to do.

  He decided that he should avoid the paper’s office. If someone was looking for him,

  that was where they would try to get a line on him. He was better off not letting them

  find him so easily.

  So he needed a typewriter to turn his story into something that could close some of

  the trouble off.

  Where could he get one? Did he dare go out and find one to bring back to the hotel?

  Should he be wandering around in the daytime at all? How many people would

  Delveccio spare to find and kill him?

  He decided that he should wait until nightfall and get a typewriter then. He could type

  the story up and hand it in to Clancy, or wait until the next day and just hand it in to

  the day desk.

  Delveccio might not know he survived the fire. Why give him a free pass of

  information by walking around where his minions watched everyone going about

  their business?

  Wes looked out the window. He could wait until nightfall. His flat form made it

  possible for him to sneak around even if he had to do it naked. He needed to research

  on clothing if he wanted to keep using the form to break into places and steal

  evidence.

  He wished he had paper to write down his thoughts. Then he could turn his thoughts

  into something that could be polished into a respectable story. He made a mental note

  to get some and a pen when he went out again.

  He put out the do not disturb sign on the door. He didn’t want the maids to see his

  bloody suit before he could get a replacement and throw it away. One call to the cops

  might be enough for Delveccio to home in on him.

  That was in the records too.

  He decided to try to make any kind of connection he could before trying to turn his

  story in. Once he had everything in hand, then he would fly over to the paper and

  drop the thing in Clancy’s tray.

  Wes wondered if he should have let things go. There were other stories he could have

  dug into. There were other menaces out there threatening the public. He had turned

  this into a crusade, and crusades got reporters killed.

  He decided he was in until he could do something to stop Delveccio. The mob boss

  would want him dead as a doornail after the theft of his records from his accountant.

  There was nothing he could do about that except hide until someone other than the

  local police took the gangster out of the picture.

  Once Delveccio was gone, Wes could turn his attention on the other criminal

  masterminds making Northern California a terrible place to live.

  He decided to be sneakier with his new body so he didn’t have to hide in a hotel room

  and hope that he wasn’t going to be murdered.

  He could use less excitement in his line of work.

  How did other heroes operate to keep their masked faces separate from their real faces

  so their enemies didn’t track them down and try to kill them. He knew what had

  happened to the Hazard Scouts, and the Mark, and knew that keeping things separate

  wasn’t a guarantee of safety.

  He figured his example should be someone like the Rocket. He flew around, he

  helped out, no one knew who he was.

  And the Rocket still flew across California. An interview with him would go in a file

  of other interviews with other reporters, but a talk about costumes might net Wes

  something to wear in his other form. Then he could worry about other issues involved

  with being a flying flatworm.

  And he didn’t exactly have a plan to keep living now that he was hidden from his

  hunters.

  The Rocket might be able to give him tips about keeping his real face separate from

  his masked face. That would be worth an interview in itself.

  He had no idea how he could arrange a talk with the old vigilante.

  He laughed at himself. He was too far away from talking to someone who had been

  flying the skies under his own power for thirty years. He might as well get on a plane

  and fly to New York in hopes of attracting the attention of the Mark.

  He might as well try to fly to the moon the next chance he got.

  Wes looked out the window and put his list of things to do in the front of his mind.

  As soon as he had a typewriter, he had to write his story to turn in before the deadline.

  Then he had to make sure he had pieces of the records ready as evidence.

  The main thing was keeping out of sight while the underworld looked for him.

  Delveccio would kill to get those records back. He had to get the story out while

  keeping his head from anyone trying to cut it off.

  Once everything was out in the open, he could go back to reporting on how the police

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  handled things. He had no illusions that the police would pursue the mobster with due

  diligence.

  Just reporting on their corruption was enough to have them try to retaliate against

  you. The reporter had put abuses out on the wire and attracted the attention of others

  to the problem.

  Some things had changed, but not enough to give Wes confidence that the beat cop

  that picked him up would not hold him for Delveccio’s men to put a bullet in him

  inside the police station. It was better being out in the open and avoiding Delveccio

  as much as possible.

  He wanted to believe in the police, but he was in the camp that vigilantes at least tried

  to protect you from problems. They very rarely made your situation worse just from

  standing around.

  Wes liked the idea of helping people from the shadows. He doubted he would be

  taken seriously thanks to his power of turning into a frightened flying carpet.

  Wes nodded when he saw the sun going down. It was time for him to call Clancy, and

  get a typewriter. Then he could work on his story and turn it in. It might not get

  Delveccio off his back, but it would give him something else to think about in the

  immediate future.

  He pulled on his ragged suit. He needed to get new clothes and throw the old one

  away. It looked like someone had thrown a bucket of blood on it with knives cutting

  it.

  It belonged to a slasher movie villain, not an honest muckraker like himself.

  He decided that maybe clothes would be needed before the typewriter. Then he could

  get one of those and call Clancy. Then he could finally sit down and write his story.

  He took the records he had stolen and hid them under the bed frame. He doubted any

  hotel maid would move the bed to make it. He went to the window.

  Now all he had to do was wait until it was dark enough to conceal him and then he

  could jump from his window and fly down to the ground. How hard could that be?

  He didn’t want to think about what would happen if he jumped and his new ability

  didn’t come on. He would hit the street hard enough to be flat.

  And once he started shopping, he would have to think about staying concealed while

  he went about his business. He didn’t want a flood of hitmen following him to his

  new home and trying to put holes in him.

  He nodded when it looked dark enough to him. The stars were out but he should be

  a cloud against them and not some inhuman monster. He touched the tattoos on his

  hand and jumped. He flattened into his flying form and expanded out of his suit. He

  carried the clothes to another hotel across the way and descended that fire escape to

  the ground. He got dressed as soon as the effect wore off and started walking.

  Now his next trick was to break into some place and grab some fresh clothes without

  getting caught.

  Then he could scrounge up a typewriter.

  He could have made better time flying across the city, but he didn’t need to do that.

  It was better if he walked on his target when they were closing and then sneaking in.

  Then he could get what he needed and take off. The main problem was any place with

  an alarm system. He would have to learn the alarm codes, or smash and grab.

  His other self gave him a lot of options for exits. He could maybe squeeze through the

  cracks of doors if they were wider than he thought. He might not be able to get

  through a key hole and didn’t want to test that unless he had to.

  He definitely didn’t want to try to get through the key hole and turn back to his

  normal self. Either he would be squeezed out of the key hole, or cut in half when his

  body tried to expand into that tiny space.

  Finding out was something for emergencies while he was trying to get out of locked

  rooms with murderous thugs trying to kill him.

  Wes found a clothing store on the verge of closing. He transformed and skirted

  around the check out counter to slip into the changing room. He hid himself on the

  ceiling when he heard someone checking the changing rooms for customers so they

  could tell them to pay and get out. He waited until they were gone before dropping

  to the floor and condensing into his normal body. He listened as he got dressed again.

  He definitely needed some kind of costume that changed when he did. All of this

  dressing himself was starting to get on his nerves. Why couldn’t he have got a better

  power from the meteor strike.

  Turning yourself into a flying carpet was okay but he would rather be invisible and

  flying. That would be better than being a stretching menace in his opinion. He

  wondered if there was someone he could consult other than the Scouts. There had to

  be someone out there familiar with the problems involved and capable of coaching

  him into using his abilities better than what he was already doing.

  Was this how villains came into existence? First, they had a power. Then they started

  using it to take what they wanted, and then they became full fledged menaces.

  Was he becoming a menace with his need to conceal himself, and having to steal until

  he could get out of the trouble he was in?

  Did he want to know the answer to that question?

  He decided that when he had Delveccio off his case, he would throttle back on

  stealing, and doing unethical things that he would call someone else on. Until then,

  he had to do what he could to survive and get out of trouble so he didn’t wind up like

  Marsden.

  He didn’t know if his other self would help him survive being cut to pieces and

  dropped out in the middle of the ocean. And he didn’t want to find out.

  The lights went out and he heard the door locking up. He needed to wait before he

  tried searching for something to wear. There was always a chance they forgot

  something and came back inside the store. When he was sure he was alone, he exited

  the changing room and looked around. The place was empty and the alarms were only

  on the doors. He could get out without setting them off if he was careful.

  He expected that he could escape any jail if he wanted to as long as they didn’t know

  about his other form. It was better that no one knew about his shopping.

  No one could press charges if they didn’t know he had been on the job in the first

  place.

  He picked out two suits and everything that went with them. He put his new

  belongings in a bag to carry with him. He looked around for another exit other than

  the doors.

  The last thing he needed was to set off the alarms and let someone know that he had

  been stealing clothes to replace his rags.

  He found an air vent he could get into next to the back wall. He worked the screws

  out, and used his ability to get inside the metal shaft. He pulled the grate back into

  place and turned the screws the best he could with no fingers. He worked his way to

  another vent below the air conditioning unit on the roof. He changed back to normal

  and had to wait for a few minutes before he could change back and work the screws

  loose on this grate and move it out of the way. He put the cover back and flowed back

  to his room at the hotel. He stored his new belongings in the closet before thinking

  about how he could get a typewriter.