dochermes | Entries tagged with flying fool

"Still Flying, Still a Fool"

11/6-11/8/2024

I.

Twenty-eight thousand pounds of armored car lifted straight up into the air and were gone from sight within seconds. It was a clear morning in early October with plenty of bright sunlight. Only eleven people nearby the South Valley Credit Union got a good look at the event, and only one had the alertness to whip up his phone and take four seconds of blurry, poorly framed video. Online media played this footage obsessively for a week, a number of TV channels also ran it once or twice. The two uniformed guards had just entered the credit union and ironically did not witness their car being stolen. The strange event was quickly and thoroughly dismissed by the general public as an amusing hoax of unknown purpose. But the Swift Security Company, which had lost the considerably expensive vehicle as well as its cargo of three hundred million dollars, did not laugh.

Gliding smoothly along at two thousand feet, where it was not visible to the naked eye of an observer on the ground, the dark green armored car slowed and then descended to a rift deep in the scenic Poconos. Neatly as any helicopter, it settled down within a ring of a half dozen all-terrain vehicles. Ten men in sturdy work clothing stood back and watched the landing. On the ground were two heavy duty acetylene torch kits, crowbars and other tools. Standing away from the others was a single figure in a black business and tan topcoat.

Riding on the roof of the stolen armored vehicle was the notorious Flying Fool. A man of average height and build, he was wearing a snug one-piece jumpsuit of a light blue color which made him difficult to spot from the ground. A black flight helmet with tinted visor concealed his face. The Fool's garment had wrist to elbow gauntlets set with complex control panels, and the leather belt supported six pouches big enough to hold a dinner plate in each one.

Secured in a flat holster on that belt was a small .32 LCP. In all his many heists, the Flying Fool had not yet needed to use it. He had both a personal and a professional dislike of violence.

"Right on time as always," announced the man in the business suit. "Well done. Check your account."

Glancing at a screen on his left gauntlet, the Fool nodded. His amplified voice boomed down through a speaker in his helmet. "Correct amount deposited and locked. All right then! I believe our transaction is concluded then."

"My boss has another job in mind for you," called up the man in the dark suit. "He would like a speedy small yacht suitable for little trips between Florida and Cuba."

The Flying Fool laughed. "I'll start shopping right away! Have fun cutting open your Christmas present, boys." With that, he tapped a button on his cuff and shot silently upward into the sky. Spinning as he rose, leveling off at three thousand feet, the Fool swung around to zip quickly back toward the border between Pennsylvania and New York. Inside the crash helmet, David Woodley was grinning. He loved his life.

( the rest of the story )

"Gravity Gets Me Down"

5/11-5/13/2023

I.

At two-thirty in the morning, a gleaming black Hyundai Tucson pulled into the parking lot of a 24-hour laundromat on the outskirts of Jericho, New Jersey. There were only two other vehicles in sight, both near the propped-open doors from which a fan of yellow light streamed. The SUV parked well off to one side, from which it could not easily be seen from inside of the laundromat. Squeezing out of the driver's side door, a huge beefy man in rough work clothing rose up and stood motionless, listening and almost sniffing the air for signs of danger. He kept one hand on the butt of the Glock 19 sticking up out of his belt on the right side.

Finally, the gunman said in a low raspy voice, "I know you gotta be out there, Bane. Come on. Let's get this over with."

In complete silence, a lean dark form dropped down off the roof of the laundromat, landing on fingers and toes and immediately straightening up. In his black clothing, the Dire Wolf was hard to spot at night. "This shouldn't take long, Fischetti, let's get it over with."

"You made me jump outta my skin, hopping down outta nowhere like that. Where's your car, anyway?"

"Never mind that. I've got the payment, you've got the prisoner, let's trade and be on our ways." Seen close up, Jeremy Bane was revealed to be exactly six feet tall, lean to the point of seeing gaunt as greyhound. Under the short black hair, two pale grey eyes moved constantly to watch for trouble. The Dire Wolf tapped one hand up against the front of his sport jacket.

"Yeah, sure. I'm not thrilled at lugging this monster all over the state anyway." Opening up the rear door, Fischetti reached in with both hands and helped the man in the back out to stand up. Since he had his hands cuffed behind him and his ankles shackled with enough slack to let him hobble, the prisoner would have had trouble getting out by himself. He was about the same size and build as Bane, also dressed in black clothing but white duct tape obscured the lower part of his face.

"Here he is, Bane. Chung Lam-Ying, and a good fight he put up before I got him in bracelets. I don't think he's too happy with either one of us."

Moving closer, the Dire Wolf inspected the glaring man. "That's Chung, all right. He's got that mole at the corner of his right eyebrow. And I know you don't pull switches or cons, Fischetti."

"You got to be honest when you live outside the law. Being an unlicensed bounty hunter means you need a good reputation."

Bane drew out a thick business envelope and handed it over.

"You understand, I haveta at least look at it," Fischetti said. "I'm not going to count it."

"That doesn't hurt my feelings," Bane said. "Count it if you like." He had moved over next to Chung and placed a hand on the bound Chinese man's shoulder.

"Looks good, looks good. Pleasure doing business with you, Mr Dire Wolf." Fischetti turned to open the driver's door again. "So, going after the Spinner of Webs, huh?"

Bane did not answer the question, but placed a stern hand high up on his prisoner's back to start steering him. As the SUV started up, he said, "Stay safe, Tom."

"What, in my line of work?" laughed the tracker, backing up and pulling out onto the deserted side street.

Getting Chung over by the back wall of the laundromat so any passing motorist wouldn't spot them, the Dire Wolf took a second to make sure his prisoner's nose was unobstructed and he could breathe freely. Chung had started making agitated noises through the duct tape over his mouth.

"Save it," Bane snapped. "Once you're secured in headquarters, you'll get a chance to talk plenty." His peripheral vision caught something moving overhead, unlikely as that might seem and he dropped into a crouch with his left hand blurring up from behind his back. The long-barrelled Smith & Wesson revolver pointed up. Open to dealing with any sort of attack, even Bane was taken by surprise. Somehow, with nothing visible causing it, he was yanked violently down to the asphalt so his face smacked its rough surface. That impact would have dazed or possibly killed a normal person.

He couldn't get up. Why? What was going on? Bane never felt fear or panic, only a cold determination to fight back. His entire body, his arms and legs and head, were being pressed down flat. No. That wasn't it, he was actually being pulled down because he could feel the force more strongly on his front. This made no sense. The gun was crushing his left hand but he couldn't do anything about it. What was holding him? How could he escape this irresistable grasp?

Nearby, Chung was evidently trying to yell. It sounded like his head was still five feet off the ground, so he wasn't being affected by whatever the effect was. Then Bane heard a very soft tap on the ground. From right next to him, a man made a tsk-tsk sound.

"Drat, of all the people I DIDN'T want to run into, you've got to be number one. Hang on, Chung, I'll get to you in a second. Listen. You're Bane, right? The Dire Wolf? I don't want bad blood between us. I'm getting paid to return this guy to his employer, that's all. As crooks go, I'm just a working stiff. I don't kill, I don't run dope, I don't hurt innocent people. I just transport and maybe steal a few valuable items."

Managing to draw in a full breath, Bane said in a deadly calm voice, "Let me up."

"Yeah, I don't think so. I heard all about you. Anyway, I've got to get going now. You've got bigger game to bag, Mr Bane. Let's pretend this never happened."

There was a whoosh and a faint breeze went by. Still trying furiously to rise, Banr abruptly felt himself released and actually threw himself over onto his back with a second bruising thump. He vaulted up onto his feet, revolver swinging as he whirled around. No one was in sight. No car lights speeding away, no sound of footsteps on the streets. Even if that mysterious speaker had brought a helper, two men couldn't have carried off Chung so quickly. But he stood alone in the night.

( Read more... )

CORONET III: Lightning's Only Happy When It Strikes

6/2022

I.

Five armed guards escorted Josef Jubilec from the lobby into the elevator and then out to a hallway on the fifty-first and top floor of the office building at 156 West 82nd Street. The men wore black slacks and light blue shirts with the logo CRAMER SECURITY over the left breast pocket, and each carried a .45 Colt revolver in a holster on a separate Sam Browne belt. The guards were all burly, intimidating men but even they seemed uneasy around one of the dreaded Blind Archers.

Josef was used to this reaction and had come to expect it. He wore a dark brown business suit of conservative cut, complete with a tan shirt and brown tie and co-ordinated vest. A lifetime spent drawing longbows had given him a massive chest and brawny arms which the suit could not conceal. Short sandy blond hair topped a bony face with bleak, dark blue eyes which gave away nothing of what he thought. The Blind Archers were raised from infancy to keep poker faces no matter what. Assassins were wise to keep their intentions secret.

They waited for a few seconds before an unmarked green metal door buzzed. One of the guards held the door open for Josef, who passed through without comment into a bare cubicle of white tile. Only a massive steel door broke the gleaming walls. None of the guards entered the cubicle, they all stepped back as the outer door closed and locked with a decisive click.

The Blind Archer stood motionless, patient as a born hunter. He could not spot any of the cameras that he knew must be scrutinizing him at that moment. Then the inner door opened silently and a huge bruiser in one of the security uniforms peered out at him. At a gesture from the guard, Josef squeezed past him into an old-fashioned office with many bookshelves, deep plush carpeting and substantial easy chairs. From behind a paper-strewn desk, an old man half rose politely and gestured for him to be seated.

Although the Alchemist looked to be in his well-preserved late sixties, closer study showed the thin dry skin of the face was covered with a maze of fine wrinkles. The receding snowy hair was still thick, even the bushy eyebrows were solid white, lowering over shrewd blue eyes. That tailored suit fit the wiry body perfectly. "Mr Jubilec. Knights of your Order of Tel Shai are not known for paying social calls on members of my community. You have some business proposition, perhaps?"

"I am here to offer information you should find useful," Josef replied. He had from his teen years been able to put any accent he wanted into his voice, and now he slightly mimicked a Sicilian tinge. "But first, understand I do not subscribe to the cliche about the enemy of my enemy being my friend."

"As world wars have shown, even bitter enemies can form alliances of convenience," the old man immediately responded. "Temporary alliances, of course."

"Exactly. There is no misunderstanding between us. Let me mention that one hundred and thirty miles north of where we sit are the Catskill Mountains. There, the Spinner of Webs is indeed spinning her webs and thinks she is secure..."

( the rest of the story )

CORONET II: Even Cold Comfort Is Better Than None"

6/23/2022

I.

Keeping well back, Galvan and Unicorn had endured watching Sable painstakingly investigate the grounds for the past six hours. They knew their captain's intense concentration and wanted to do nothing to interrupt it. Sable's gift was enhanced sensory perception. She used gralic force to increase her eyesight, sense of smell and tactile awareness to levels far beyond what flesh and blood were thought to be capable of achieving.

Through each room of that mansion, disturbing little beyond occasionally lifting an object and then replacing it exactly, Lauren Sable Reilly saw details at an electron microscope level as she chose. She could see in the infra-red or ultra-violet range, she sniffed traces of odors that no forensics equipment could detect, she heard the wooden fibers in the floor and the furniture still creak as they straightened out after being stepped on the day before. Information poured into her mind in a deluge that only decades of strict discipline could assimilate into any useful coherence.

In her early forties, Sable was a trim, athletic woman of average height and build in the black KDF field suit. Her jet black hair was brushed back from a high forehead. Large dark eyes, a snug nose and full lips gave her distinctive face that normally showed a warm friendly nature but right now her features were set in a taut mask.

The giant Melgar and the petite platinum blonde Unicorn followed, silently making their own observations and drawing their own conclusions. Galvan loomed up a full foot taller than his teammates. He had the massive muscular build of a lumberjack, and his rough outdoorsy clothes and work boots added to that impression. So did the curly light brown hair and short thick beard. Not demanding Sable tell him what she had learned was taking all his strength of will. Staying close to him to give emotional support, Ashley Whitaker also was aching to find out what their captain had learned and was biting her lip not to start rattling off questions. Keeping silent went against her basic personality.

Finally, after what seemed an interminable afternoon of prowling the mansion, Sable dropped down gracelessly onto the wooden bench in a gallery lined with original oils. Most of the paintings were of Hudson Valley landscapes and historical scenes. As she sat down, the team captain buried her face in her hands and exhaled sharply. "Oh. My head is killing me," she said and drooped forward in weariness. "That was a long stretch of using my powers."

"You want some water, captain?" asked Ashley, breaking the silence of the day. The little blonde dug in a pocket of her own field suit. "I've got some high-protein bars here."

"What? Oh. No, thank you, Ashley, I'm fine. So much to take in. First, let me say that our friends were alive and unharmed when they were taken from here. No traces of necrotic tissue smell anywhere where they had been. Jin, Timothy and Archie were captured by an Alchemical vapor that enervated them. I recognize its odor. 'Yellow Lotus' is what it's usually called, it makes you too weak to even raise a hand but there's no permanent damage. Our friends were carried away, helpless but unhurt."

"An Alchemist?" rumbled Galvan. He had begun pacing back and forth, even the plush carpeting not able to muffle his heavy footsteps. "They are always bad news."

"Especially in this case. Let me summarize what I've found. Nine people have been staying in this mansion for more than a month. One was a middle-aged white American man in only fair health, with nothing Midnight War about him. He did maintenance and upkeep. There was a Southeast Asian woman about forty who prepared meals, and a specifically Chinese woman in her early seventies who served as maid and personal assistant. A medical doctor in his sixties, no longer in professional practice. They were mere servants to the real threats. I've identified two men as familiar enemies. Jorge Vargas, called Repel, and Indigo the Illusionist. A young woman who stayed here is one of the Calveron. I'm certain she's the Amelia Mancuso that Jeremy met three years ago. She has Invocation skills. The fourth Midnight War denizen is an non-powered man with technical skill involving Trom tech and I am certain he is the criminal called the Flying Fool."

"Dang," interrupted Unicorn as she plopped down next to her captain. "I HATE it when someone organizes a team of bad guys to imitate us. It's always a disaster fighting them. As soon as we joined, Sable, we had to tangle with Avathor's League of Predators and then that bunch who called themselves Dark Cloud."

"I remember, Ashley. Repel and Indigo were in fact members of both of those squads. The others are all dead. Duffy the Sumo, the Fatal Wasp, Avathor himself and even Arem Kamende, all out of the way." Sable straightened up and turned her gaze toward her teammates. "So we're dealing with one of these squads who are assembled to act as a strike force. There was also a Human bodybuilder staying on these premises but I picked up no hints of any gralic powers in his traces. He acted as a driver, as far as I can tell."

Galvin bent forward, studying her face. "You know who the Alchemist is who is leading this team, don't you?"

"Yes. It's bad news," Sable admitted. "We're dealing with Olivia Wang, the Spinner of Webs, probably the most dangerous mastermind still active. There are rumors in the badlands that one of her lieutenants has staged a coup and driven her off her throne. That would be Samuel Policastro. Our sources hint that Olivia has been on the run for more than a year, spotted all over East Asia and Europe with Policastro's assassins right behind her. It seems she has been gathering a team like our own for protection."

"And now she's got our guys!" Unicorn blurted, "Jin and Tim and Archie are all prisoners. They came here to investigate the stolen yacht and instead they were captured. Sable, we need to get after them right this second! Where can we find them?"

Getting back up on her feet, tugging down the field jacket where it had risen up, Lauren Sable Reilly gave Ashley a sad look. "I know Olivia too well, honey. She will be contacting us soon, certainly today."

"Why are we waiting for that?" roared Galvan as his self-control finally broke. "She's had our people for twenty-hours! Who knows what tortures she's putting them through? Let's get after them right now."

Reaching up, the tiny Unicorn rubbed a small hand between Galvan's shoulder blades. The Melgar's muscles felt like warm granite, so dense that rifle bullets would glance off and so charged with gralic force that he could fling a car across a parking lot. But his heart was as loving and vulnerable as any Human child's.

"It's going to be okay," Ashley told him. "We are too valuable to mistreat. Look, both of us have been taken prisoner by enemies, right? We got out fine. They know we hold in our heads all the secrets of Tel Shai lore and Midnight War history, stuff worth huge fortunes. The Spinner of Webs won't chance damaging us if she can get at that knowledge."

Watching with a cool detached eye, Sable nodded once. "More than that, Galvan. Olivia is a schemer and a planner, not hotheaded in the least. She doesn't want you or Sulak or our Blind Archer coming after her in a murderous rage. Nor does she want the Dire Wolf of all people enraged at her. She will not harm Jin, or Timothy or Archie without urgent need."

The big Melgar deliberately unclenched those great hands and lowered his shoulders. "I suppose even cold comfort is better than none at all."

( the rest of the story )

"CORONET I: Falling Into the Sky"

6/22/2022

I.

Two uniformed officers were waiting on the scene when the cherry-red Jeep Cherokee pulled up to a stop at the farther edge of the parking lot. Yellow warning tape formed an open rectangle ten feet on its longer sides but the body it had surrounded had already been taken away. Cars going by on the side street slowed slightly as drivers caught sight of the cops and the tape, but there was nothing visible to keep their attention. On a muggy overcast day where a thunderstorm seemed imminent, people were focused mostly on getting home.

Two wildly mismatched men climbed out of the Jeep. Straightening up from behind the wheel, Archie McAllister was a massive bearlike figure in rough work boots, trousers and red flannel shirt with the cuffs rolled up. Six inches shorter and a hundred pounds lighter was Timothy Limbo. In his biker boots, well-worn jeans and black leather jacket over a plain white T-shirt, he might as well have been wearing a uniform of sorts.

"Hi, Morrissey," Timothy called as they approached. "Thanks for calling us in on this one."

"Tim! Yeah, Detective Beckert had to go, he's juggling more than one mess right now, but he knew you'd be interested in this." The officer nodded at Archie. "Seems I recollect meeting you as well, sir."

Archie McAllister grumbled something unintelligible but polite enough sounding. Big and imposing as he was, in the round, unshaven face the gentle blue eyes belied his true nature.

"Right off the bat, one question comes to mind," Timothy began, circling the taped-off area. "This is where the body of Lionel Groeters was found, face down, arms and legs full extended, right?"

"Yep. After the forensics boys scraped up as much residue as they could, the asphalt was water blasted but that stain is gonna be there for a while," the cop volunteered.

"From what I was told on the way over, Groeters looked as if he had fallen from a minimum height of one hundred and fifty feet. Impact deformation was classic, your CSI team said. But the buildings in this clinic are only two stories high. At the most, he couldn't have fallen more than twenty feet if he had dived off a roof after a running start." Timothy scratched at the back of his neck beneath the lank yellow hair. "Hard to figure, you know?"

Archie turned slowly around, scanning the nearby buildings. "If it wasn't for the blood on the ground, I'd suggest that he fell somewhere else and was brought here after he was already dead. But that's out. You say your experts think he fell a hundred and fifty feet at the most, so he wasn't pushed out of an airplane or helicopter, you'd have a hundred witnesses."

"Puzzling, right?" asked the cop. "Sounds like some of that Midnight War craziness you guys handle." He handed a tablet to Timothy. "You realize we can not show any crime scene photos to civilians, not even KDF members who have been helping out for years and years."

With Archie looming up behind him, Timothy Limbo studied the gruesome images before handing the Ipad back. "Unofficially and off the record, denying everything, I see only one suggestive item. The victim was dressed for the office. Polished shoes, pressed slacks, neat white shirt and you can see the end of a necktie up by his shoulder. But no jacket. It may not mean anything but I've seen murder cases solved by smaller clues."

"Could be. Well, me and Tompkins are supposed to report back now. Good seeing you guys again. I know lots of men wearing a shield resent you KDF as vigilantes and loose cannons, but personally I've seen you clear up some awful atrocities. Good luck."

"Thanks again," Timothy said, watching as the officers eased out into traffic.

Archie McAllister was pacing around the taped off area, big hands jammed into his trouser pockets. "Honestly, I'm going to be completely useless on this. Megan was the genius. On all those 'Trom Girl mysteries,' I listened to her rattle off solutions and maybe once in a while I threw a punch."

"Heck, I don't claim to be nearly as smart as she was, Archie. Who is? But you've had ten years experience on those cases, so any suggestions you come up with are welcome. Besides, you're good company and I hate driving in rush hour traffic." The KDF member stared up at the sky again. "You know, I can't quite remember the details but I think Sheng fought a crook who might be connected with this, maybe a year ago. It's far fetched but worth checking out. We never found out his real name, he was known as the Flying Fool."

"That's goofy. And you think maybe he was the one who dropped that poor guy out of the sky?"

"Worse than that," Timothy said, "I think first he made Lionel Groeters fall up INTO the sky."

( the rest of the story )

"The Flying Fool"

8/1/2018

I.

Sheng Mo-Yuan emerged from his beloved silver-grey Ferrari 458 Italia as Wilfred Crosby lumbered up to meet him.

"Nice little car, yes indeed," said the remarkably obese man, moving around it for a survey. "Yes. But I have to say you are not taking as good care of the girl as you might. Look at that scratch on the fender. Oh dear, what IS that debris on the passenger seat, not the remains of a pizza slice wrapped in a napkin? I'm legitimately stricken."

Smiling, Sheng straightened his tie and tugged his dark brown suit jacket down. Still a young man barely past thirty, Sheng stood only five feet five but was so obviously fit and athletic that he made an imposing figure. Most people took his for Chinese, Northern Chinese most likely, but his beaked nose and sharp cheekbones belied that. In fact, Sheng was the only inhabitant of the adjacent realm Chujir currently in the real world.

"It's a work vehicle, not a collectible, I have to admit," he said. "So. Mr Crosby, you told me that one of your antique cars was mysteriously stolen? A Bentley?"

"This way, please. Yes, normally I keep my collection in the storage building but I like to, well, air them out one by one on nice days." Crosby took Sheng's arm and walked him across the vast paved parking area of his estate. The nearby Adirondacks rose up around them in full autumn blazes of red and gold. The mansion itself was a four-story palace of redwood and marble, with a walkway around the top floor and a deck extending out from it with a large telescope mounted for viewing the scenery. Sheng took it all in with reaction. He had had quite a wealthy clients.

Glancing back at the head-high stone wall around the estate and the metal gates that had swung open to admit him, Sheng shook his head. "It's difficult to see how anyone could have stolen one of your cars without being seen. There's only the one gate, I assume?"

"Yes," replied Crosby, already short of breath as they reached the gleaming vintage vehicle that stood by itself. "And the security cameras show nothing. It's baffling. The police have been of no help. Then someone mentioned your Argent Agency. The Fist For Hire service. You have something of a reputation."

"Thank you," Sheng said.

"Today, I'm letting my 1957 Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost breathe. Last previous owner did some restoration that I didn't care for. There she is."

"You mean, there she goes!" yelled Sheng as he burst into a full sprint and leaped up to barely grasp the undercarriage of the car which was somehow rising straight up into the air. As he got a grip, Sheng shifted the gralic focus in his body for enhanced strength. His hands locked around the rear bar beneath the car so solidly that another man with pliers could not have unbent them. He could hang underneath by his hands for an hour without difficulty as long as his strength was augmented. He had in fact done so more than once.

It was only then that the situation fully sank in. What was drawing the car up into the air? As far as he could tell, nothing. It was surreal. Sheng looked down and saw miles of forested wilderness gliding by hundreds of feet below him.
He searched his mind for anyone in the Midnight War who could be doing this, but there had only been one warlock who commanded magnetism, Esteban Diego, and he had been dead for more than a decade. Some of the Taurians had limited control over electromagnetism, enough to short out motors or draw small objects toward them, but he had never heard of one with powers this strong.

Well, Sheng thought wryly, at least I'm making progress on this case. He let his body dangle, legs swinging in the wind as the Rolls Royce flew over the forest. He had acted without thinking and now all he could do was to hang on and see what happened next. His Argent ability enabled him to channel gralic force into his body to produce extra strength or speed or durability... but he could only create one effect at a time. He could if necessary become resilient enough that handgun bullets ricocheted off him and baseball bats broke over his head without causing him distressed. But he was not literally invulnerable. If he fell from this height, he was sure it would be fatal. The flexible Trom-devised armor he wore under his clothes was good but it wasn't miraculous. Even between the armor and his resilience, he couldn't expect to survive a fall like that.

Fifteen minutes crawled by. Sheng was considering if he should climb back further on Rolls and try to get up on the rear of the car, maybe up on the roof. But then he saw they were approaching a winding two-lane road and starting to descend. There was nothing but trees and bushes on either side of that road for miles. Yes, the car was definitely landing. He still could not hear anything but the rush of air past him.

When Crosby had called him the day before about the disappearance of the first car, Sheng had entertained the idea of some cargo helicopter hauling the vehicle up on cables. But those craft made a horrendous racket and neither Crosby nor his servants had heard anything. It was still a complete mystery to him what was going on. Now the Rolls Royce was descending slower and slower. Not wanting to be crushed under the car when it touched down, Sheng released his grip at thirty feet and dropped into a thick cluster of bushes by the side of the road. He had shifted his gralic force to increased durability. The impact was only a dull thud as he sank through the foliage and got his footing.

Cautiously, he stuck his head out from the side of the bushes, down near the ground. The Silver Ghost was parked on the road, as solid and mundane as if it had not just flown miles through the air in defiance of all laws of both physics and common sense. Hopping down lightly from its roof was a thin man in a sky-blue jumpsuit.

( the rest of the story )