by Brett P. S.
Walter started to do so, but he noticed something about his powers. He could almost tip the beams. A little further and he might be able to …
“I’m not going to ask you again,” Bloodhound said. “Do it now.”
Walter jumped.
His body plummeted down two stories before he turned gravity on its side, shifting his velocity vector due south. The strength was enough to drag a car behind him. Without thinking and with his face still covered, he took out the support beam directly beneath Bloodhound. The footing on the third floor ledge crumbled, and Bloodhound came crashing down in a pile of rubble. Police forces rushed in while Walter flew off into a protected corner. He reached underneath the neck of his suit and pulled out his rainy day fund.
“Glad I packed a spare,” he said.
He pulled a strip of cloth from around his neck and tied it over his face before jumping back into the aftermath. He leaped to the top steps of City Hall to see Bloodhound carried away by an armored police ambulance. Walter heaved a sigh of relief. He’d finally caught him. So what if the old man suffered a few broken bones in the process. He was alive and ripe for a league interrogation. More importantly, Walter kept his identity in check. His alter ego remained intact. Boy, did he love his cat.