Wes decided that he could get the typewriter the same way he had got new clothes.

He just needed a place he could break into without being seen. How hard could that

be with his other body?

He liked the plan. The hard part would be getting it to his hotel room without anyone

seeing it. He could write his story after he had it, then turn everything in to Clancy

before Delvecchio’s mob caught up with him.

He doubted his new body was bulletproof.

He certainly didn’t want to find out by being shot.

Wes decided to go out after sunset, find what he needed, break in and steal the

typewriter with paper and ink, then try to sneak everything through the lobby when

he got back to the hotel. He certainly wouldn’t be able to take it through the air vents.

Then he could write his story. Someone else was investigating the fire for the paper,

and no one knew where he was and some were speculating if he was dead.

Clancy was letting them do that.

Hopefully the night editor was letting the other administration think the same thing.

He doubted they had ties to Delvecchio, but he didn’t want to find out at the worst

moment.

It was bad enough he wasn’t sure he was safe at the hotel. They could be combing

every one in town, looking for him. The moment someone saw his face, they could

converge on his hiding spot and he wouldn’t know until someone kicked in the door.

At least his other body could get him out of trouble if he could get out the window

before they caught up with him.

Flying, even as a flesh carpet, felt good. It felt like swimming through the air.

If he could just do that without all the rest, it would be a win in his mind.

Wes waited for the sun to go down. He opened the window of his room. The hotel

didn’t have balconies so people could take in the breeze from the ocean moving miles

away. He hoped getting a typewriter was as easy as getting a new suit.

Once true night had fallen, he slipped out the window and drifted down to the street.

He floated along to a shop. He frowned at the typewriters on a shelf next to one wall.

Taking one was going to be a problem to surmount.

He decided that he could get in through the vents. Then he would have to walk out

of one of the access doors. They were alarmed, but he could get away with his

machine before the police showed up to try to take him in.

Being able to fly was great for the thieves of the world.

Wes floated up to the roof of the building. His power ran out and he donned his new

suit so he wouldn’t be naked. He waited for the shop to close and empty out. He

didn’t want to cause trouble for the people he was robbing. He just wanted a

typewriter that he could return when he was done with it.

Eventually the staff emptied out of the little shop. He listened and then watched as the

last man locked up the doors behind himself. Now he had to go in and get his prize.

Wes tried the easy approach first of trying to get through cracks in the frames of the

doors. He wasn’t narrow enough for that. There was two grills that punched through

the wall. That had to be his point of entry.

He used his superior strength to take the screws out of the vent grills. His carpet body

was able to grip the metal better than his fleshy fingers could. He slipped inside and

worked on the grill over the inner vent. He fell out on the floor just before his power

ran out.

He took a moment to get back together. He stood up and went to the typewriter he

wanted. Smith-Corona would never let him down. Now he had to hit the exit, get his

clothes back, and fly home to the hotel.

He unlocked the door from the inside. He put the typewriter outside next to the door.

He made sure he had ribbons to load the typewriter so he could use it. He locked the

store up and used his power to get back to the roof through the grills. He made sure

to put them back in place as he went. He picked up his clothes, swooped down and

grabbed the typewriter and flew back to his hotel.

Wes landed in his room after several small stops to let his power recharge. He dressed

again and put the typewriter on the provided table. He winced that he hadn’t grabbed

paper with the ribbon. He hadn’t thought about it since he was so worried about

getting the machine in the first place.

He flew back to the shop and repeated himself, but this time he had an easier job. He

decided he would bring the typewrite back when he was done with it. He flew back

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

to the hotel with the paper in hand.

He went out and got some food and brought it back. Now he had to write his story

and put it together in a whole that couldn’t be butchered that much by Editorial.

Of course, no story, no matter how good it was, survived the touch of the editor.

He put the story to the side when he was done. He took the ribbon out of the machine

for later if he needed it. Now he had to return the typewriter to the store before

anyone realized it was missing.

Once he was done with the typewriter, he could call Clancy and tell the night man he

was coming in with his story. Once he was done with that, he could sit back and see

what the city did to prove or deny his claims.

Once he had his story in, and it was printed, he would still have to worry about

reprisals but there was a good chance that Delveccio got sent away, and the next boss

would leave him alone.

He returned the typewriter in reverse moves from how he had taken it in the first

place. He got his clothes and found somewhere open to eat, with a payphone he could

use. Once he talked to Clancy, most of his major problems would be something else

when the sun came up.

He ate his dinner, watching the time. As soon as Clancy came on deck, he would

make the call. Then he would turn in his story to be printed and that would be that.

The only weak spot in his plan was he had to go down to the paper and physically

turn in the copy. He didn’t like that at all. On the other hand, he couldn’t get the story

printed for days if he mailed it to the paper. He had to turn it in and be ready to talk

to any manager, or legal department, that wanted to talk to him.

He expected they would want the papers he had stolen for evidence. He didn’t know

if he should give those up unless he had to go to court. They were evidence against

Delveccio, and himself. If the mobster got them back, he was definitely as good as

dead.

Breaking into a bad guy’s place did not make him a good guy in the eyes of the law.

They would throw him in jail for burglary at least unless the mobster refused to press

charges so he could do to Wes what he did to Marsden.

And Wes didn’t want to be set out to sea after being tortured.

He found a payphone and called the paper. He asked for Clancy. He had to turn in his

story in time for it to be pressed out and put in tomorrow’s papers.

“This is Clancy,” said the editor. “What do you want?”

“I’m coming in with the story,” said Wes. “I’ll have it turned in for copy checking in

a few minutes.”

“All right,” said Clancy. “I’m ready for you when you do get here. Is any of it

provable?”

“All of it is written down in Delveccio’s handwriting,” said Wes. “If we have to go

to court, an expert will confirm the source of the handwriting.”

He didn’t know that for sure, but why not throw that in if it helped get his story in

print and out in the city.

He went back to his hotel room and got his story and tucked it in his jacket. He took

the stolen file and hid it behind the toiletry shelf in a corner in the bathroom. He

didn’t want the stuff to be found and be taken by anyone before he got back to the

hotel.

If he needed it, he wanted to be able to come right back to the hotel, grab it and leave

before anything happened to him.

Wes snuck out of the hotel. He didn’t want the clerk to figure out that he had forged

the paperwork to stay in the place. That would get him booted back on the street and

out where the goons could see him.

He kept an eye out as he crossed to the paper. He was in trouble if he got caught out

on the street. His cape body might be super stretchy and strong, but he had to be able

to press the buttons. One wrong move on his part would be enough to put him in a

position where he couldn’t get to the buttons on his hand to transform.

After that was a concrete bath and a burial somewhere no one would ever find him.

He spotted the paper building as he walked. He could turn in his story, talk to Clancy,

and go back into hiding. He was home free.

He didn’t spot the car rolling up behind him until it was right on top of him. Men

jumped out and commenced to beat him until he had to roll up and protect his skull

from their blows. They tied him up with his tie and threw him in the trunk.

Wes lay in the darkness and tried to get his wits back. He hurt more than from the car

crash. He should have known they would be watching for him to try to get in the

paper to file his story. He should have been more careful.

Now he was going to pay for his mistake.

He tried to twist around to reach the buttons. His arms were tied in such a way that

he couldn’t touch the scars without doing some major work first. He didn’t know how

long he had, but felt he only had until the ride was over.

So the first thing he had to do was get his hands where he could touch the marks with

his other hand and transform. Visions of Marsden danced in his head as he worked

on the tie around his wrists and hands.

How much time did he have left before they stopped the car and started working on

him? He had to get out of the trunk before that happened.

He found an edge of something in the trunk. He felt around and found it was a

screwdriver. He began stabbing the tie with it, trying to unravel the knot enough to

free his hands. If he could do that, escaping would be a snap. The transformation

would also heal the wooziness and headache he had. He had taken too many shots to

the head in his opinion.

He paused when the car stopped. Was this last time for him? He had to get out of the

trunk as fast possible. His next breath might be his last. He had to get one of his

hands free enough so he could touch them together.

If he could become his other self, he could get out of the trunk and heal up. He

doubted he could take revenge for being tied up and readied for his sea burial in his

initial move.

Getting away to be the priority over staying around and being executed by the people

who had beat him in the street.

The tie loosened enough for him to stretch his hands. He pushed the buttons and the

transformation activated. He expanded out of his makeshift manacles and his clothes.

Now he had to escape without being seen.

He didn’t want to find out he wasn’t as bulletproof as he thought by being shot.

Wes felt round in the dark. The inside of the trunk had a hook in a ring to hold it shut.

He could feel it with a flattened edge of his body. He tripped it and the hood cracked

open. He pulled himself and his clothes out of the trunk and floated to a gentle

landing. He let the car keep going while he tried to come up with a better plan than

run and hide.