csyphrett

epilogue
Buck Clinton and Deshawn Barden met at Maulton Mall. It was neutral ground for
all of the gangs, not just the Aardvarks and Razorbacks. No one wanted to get kicked
from the Mall.
 
“What you want, Clinton?,” asked Barden. His group had spread out in a rough
crescent around him. He frowned at the number of Aardvarks that had arrived with
their leader.
 
“I want to get rid of Log Man,” said Clinton. “He’s hurting my business, and I know
he’s hurting yours.”
 
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?,” said Barden. “The cops will be all over you
if you try to make that happen.”
 
“He’s all over me now,” said Clinton. “And I want him gone.”
 
“So what you want from me?,” said Barden. He didn’t like the look of this.
 
“I feel like I need something to draw Log Man out,” said Clinton. “Then I can get him
to come after me on my terms. He won’t be able to back down even if he knew it was
a trap. He’ll still have to do something.”
 
“And what do you think you can do that will make him hound you more than what he
is already doing?,” asked Barden.
 
“I was thinking I could wipe all of you out,” said Clinton. “That would send a
message. Then when Log Man comes at me, I could wipe him out. All I would have
to do is get rid of the weapons and any witnesses after the deed’s done.”
 
“So you’re drawing down on us here?,” said Barden. His hand reached for his
waistband.
 
Clinton raised a hand. More cars lit their lights. Gangsters got out, hauling serious
hardware with them. They pointed the weapons at the Aardvarks.
 
“I know a guy,” said Clinton. He waved a hand at the light machineguns he had
procured. “He steals weapons from the Army and Marines. I told him about my
problems with you and Log Man. He gave me these to deal with it. They fire a couple
thousand rounds a second. They’ll chew up that wood gimp, just like they’re going
to chew you up. What do you think of the plan now?”
 
“I have one question,” said Barden. His hand never strayed from his waistband. If he
got a chance, he was going to put one in his rival’s head.
 
“What’s that?,” asked Clinton.
 
“Did you tell Log Man about your plan?,” asked Barden. He pointed at the other
group of Aardvarks.
 
Clinton turned to look at what he was pointing at across the parking lot. He growled
in anger as he saw the Log Mobile rolling right at the triggers on the Razorbacks.
Some of the group turned to fire at the wooden car coming right at them.
 
A silent explosion of discs slicing through cars and people sent some of the gunners
ducking for cover. Then the Log Mobile rolled over one of the cars, crushing it under
the wooden shaft of a wheel.
 
Clinton turned. He couldn’t let this chance get away from him. He had to at least get
rid of Barden. That was the end goal for this.
 
Barden shot him before he could get his weapon out and ready. The distraction had
been enough for him to draw his own weapon and start shooting and his first target
had been the other gang leader.
 
Barden felt an explosion of pain in his leg. He started limping away. He had to get
looked at before something else happened. He fired into the general melee to cover
his escape.
 
Clinton sat up. Foam dripped from his mouth. He fired at Barden until the bullets
stopped coming out of his gun. He jumped to his feet and charged his enemies with
the empty gun to be used as a hammer against anyone in his way.
 
The bullet holes in his shirt weren’t bleeding. Crushed bullets dropped to the ground
as he moved.
 
“I’ll teach you,” said Clinton. He dropped the magazine out of his pistol. He reloaded
with a snap of his hands. “I’m going to be the one running things now.”
 
He fired into Barden as the other gang leader tried to get into his car and make his
getaway. He fired until he ran out of bullets. He threw the empty gun at another
Razorback trying to get to his own car and drive away. He needed more bullets to
shoot.
 
Clinton looked around. There had to be a gun he could use. He needed to kill Log
Man before he ran for it. Everyone else was trying to get to their cars and drive off.
Flying wood was everywhere.
 
Clinton had Barden’s car right there. All he had to do was get behind the wheel and
take off. He could ditch it somewhere else and claim he had lent his car to one of his
friends who had been dropped during the fighting.
 
It wasn’t a perfect plan. It was better than getting hammered by the flying logs raining
down on the lot.
 
He ran to the driver’s side of the Cobalt and pulled open the door. The keys hung
from the ignition. He smiled.
 
Let them try to prove he had shot Barden. How were they going to do that when he
fixed himself an alibi across town.
 
Clinton slipped inside the car and slid the seat back. He turned the key and listened
to the engine. He dropped the gear into drive and pushed the gas pedal all the way
down. He needed to head for the exit and run from the mall as fast as possible. He
couldn’t claim to be innocent if he got caught driving a dead man’s car from the scene
of a gunfight.
 
Something exploded behind him. He ducked his head, and kept going. Other cars 
ahead of him ran for the street just like he was. None of them got hostile with him as
they all wanted to escape.
 
Clinton glanced at his rearview mirror. He grimaced as the Log Mobile filled the
glass. He wished he had something to deal with the masked man.
 
He spotted a whirling piece of wood flying through the air. He yanked on the wheel.
The log bounced off the rear passenger fender. He knew he had saved himself from
a takedown. If that thing had come through the window, there was no telling what it
would have done to him.
 
Clinton decided to split off from the running group. Log Man couldn’t chase them all.
He would probably go after the ones that stuck together. By the time he got back
to chasing a lone driver, the gangster planned to have dumped the car and gone
somewhere he couldn’t be touched.
 
The Log Mobile rolled up on his left. He looked over. That kid waved at him. Then
the kid exploded in a storm of wooden discs slicing through the air. His tire came
apart, dropping the car on its rim. The wheel jerked in his hand. He hit a telephone
pole before he could put on the brakes.
 
Clinton pushed the air bag out of his face as he tried to get out of the wrecked car.
He hated vigilantes. They were worse than cops. He hated them more than anything.
Why couldn’t they have left him alone? Now everything was in ruins thanks to
two geeks in wooden costumes.
 
He got out of the wreck. He could still get away from the scene if he could get away
from Log Man. He still had a chance.
 
“It’s over, Clinton,” said Log Man. The vigilante climbed out of his strange car with
his cape waving around him. “You killed Barden, and you’re going to jail over it.”
 
“You’re not taking me anywhere, puppet boy,” said Clinton. “I’ll take you apart.”
 
“I don’t have time for this,” said Log Man. He pointed his hand at his enemy. A
stream of logs flew across the feet separating the two men. Clinton went down under
the assault. “I told you to get out of town. You should have listened. Now the police
are going to hand you to people to cart you out of town. Congratulations.”
 
Sirens filled the air. Log Man dropped a column on Clinton to keep him from going
anywhere. He shook his head as he walked back to the Log Mobile and drove off
into the night.
 
Clinton struggled to get out from under the weight. He swore as he pushed on the
wood. He had to get away before the police arrived and took him away. Everyone
would say he killed Barden. He was in deeper trouble than just a prison sentence if
he went in.
 
He tried to push to one side. If he could get most of his torso out of the way, he could
just roll it off his arm. Then he could get up and run.
 
Flashing lights told him he was too late. Uniforms approached. They examined his
situation without saying anything.
 
“How you doing?,” said one of the uniforms. “I’m Officer Crookshanks. It looks
like you have a problem, bud. You want to tell me how you wound up under what
looks like a telephone pole next to a wrecked car?”
 
“No, I don’t,” said Clinton. “Can you get this thing off me?”
 
“I think we’ll need firefighters to do that,” said Crookshanks. “Call this in, will you,
Jerry? We’ll get someone out here who can lift that log up and take him down to the
ER. I think he’s going to be booked and put in a cell after that.”
 
“I’ll say,” said Jerry.
The End

I need two picks and a title. I am picking Jane Marple as my last hero, and Mrs Seeton as my last optional character . The title is going to be a train bound to nowhere  
 
Title: A Train Bound To Nowhere
Author: Walter Gibson
Character: the old man in the corner (The Case of Miss Eliott)
Character: Professor Van Dusen (The Thinking Machine)
Character: Nick Charles (The Thin Man)
Character: Father Brown (The Innocence of Father Brown)
Character: Lord Darcy
Character: Mr. Harley Quin (The Mysterious Mr. Quin)
Character:  Jane Marple
Option: The Orient Express (Murder on the Orient Express)
Option:Nora Charles (The Thin Man)
Option: Mrs. Seeton

Log Man decided the best thing to do was to get the other man to come to the door.
If he could do that, then maybe he could use his power to change things around. How
did he get that to happen?
 
He decided that he should knock on the door. That should get things started. If he
could get the man talking, that would give him a location to target.
 
Log Man knocked on the door. That was the easiest thing for him to do. Hopefully
the guy didn’t just start shooting.
 
“Who’s there?,” said the other voice.
 
“Mr. Fabreau?,” asked Log Man. He hoped it was the same man that belonged to the
nameplate on the door. “This is Log Man. The police are cordoning off the building.
I expect they will come in after you in a few minutes. Why don’t you come out before
things get worse.”
 
“Why should I make it easier for them?,” said Fabreau. “I have a hostage. I can shoot
him if I don’t get what I want.”
 
“I don’t think that will help you exactly like you think it will,” said Log Man. He
listened, trying to pinpoint where the man was in the office. “Shooting your hostage
will just make it where they will want to shoot you instead of talking you down. Why
don’t you tell me what’s going on? I can call somebody and see if I can get you some
kind of leeway.”
 
“My life is over,” said Fabreau. “This guy is going to expose me and the deals I made.
I can’t let that happen.”
 
“It’s too late for that,” said Log Man. “You could have bluffed things out if the
building hadn’t seen you pulling a gun.”
 
Log Man didn’t know if that was what had happened, but someone must have seen
what was going on. Then they had called the cops. The rest of the building had fled
to the exits.
 
“What was I going to do?,” said Fabreau. “This guy was all in my face, asking me
about the land I bought. He wanted to know why there was a discrepancy in the
money moving through the office. He said he had copies of the receipts. I couldn’t let
him wreck everything. It’s not like I could invite him to lunch.”
 
“I know,” said Log Man. “Reporters. They’re the worse. Don’t you think this is a
little overboard. You might been able to explain everything away in a court. Now you
might be shot. You don’t want to get shot. The police don’t want to shoot you. Why
don’t you come out here and we’ll go down and talk to one of the officers
surrounding the building.”
 
“I’m going to make it worth it going to prison,” said Fabreau. “I’m going to shoot this
guy first. That will get me a good stretch for something major. That way I don’t have
to worry about picking up the pieces of my life when I get out. There aren’t any jobs
for a bookkeeper who went over the line.”
 
“I think that’s just adding on to your problems, Mr. Fabreau,” said Log Man. He
raised his hands to point at the inset window of the office door. “I think you should
just leave the gun on the desk and come out of there.”
 
“What if I don’t?,” said Fabreau,
 
“I’ll come in and get you,” said Log Man. “You don’t want that. I’m a vigilante. I
might use excessive force.”
 
“I would like to see you try that,” said Fabreau.
 
“All right,” said Log Man. “I’m coming in.”
 
He blasted a stream of wood through the window. He heard someone scream. He
hoped he had hit the right guy.
 
Log Man opened the door and shouldered it out of the way. He raised his hand and
pointed it at the stricken accountant. Phillips stood in a corner. He had his hands up
to protect his face however much that would stop a bullet.
 
“You might want to get out of here before he tries to use you for a hostage again,”
said Log Man. He used a thumb to indicate the doorway.
 
“I didn’t think he would try to shoot me over a land grab,” said Phillips.
 
“Go,” said Log Man. He kicked the pistol from Fabreau’s straining hand. “The police
might shoot you. Look non-threatening.”
 
“All right,” said Phillips. “I need to call this in to the paper. I’ll be on the front page
tomorrow.”
 
“Would you just get the heck out of here already?,” asked Log Man. “Otherwise, I’m
dropping you out the window.”
 
“Can I get an interview?,” asked Phillips. “The editor would love that.”
 
“All right. Out the window you go,” said Log Man.
 
Phillips went out of the door. He looked over his shoulder as Log Man waved at him
to keep going.
 
Log Man shook his head. At least he didn’t have to move the wood out of the way.
The police and emergency services could do that when they got there.
 
He should have asked Phillips how much money was involved in this before he had
given his okay to chase the story. He had a feeling he had thought a penny ante sum
was there, when it was really in the millions.
 
He still had to get his bag and head over to the lawyer’s office. Phillips would be
calling the office to report everything first hand. Log Man saving the day would be
in the headlines unless he squashed it somehow.
 
And he didn’t see how he could do that.
 
Log Man made sure Fabreau couldn’t get to his pistol before he left the office. He
looked up and down the corridor. He thought he heard footsteps. If Phillips had
reached a policeman, this might be them coming to ask him questions.
 
He needed to get by them and head out of the building before someone decided to
lock him down. He didn’t want to reveal his identity to the world. That would cause
a lot more trouble than just the threat to his wife and son.
 
He doubted he could hide in one of the offices until things were cleared up. He still
had to get across town. He decided to head to the stairs. The police would have it
cordoned off, but maybe he could slip by.
 
He didn’t see anyone in the hall as he rushed the stairwell. He heard the elevator.
Phillips must be taking it down to the lobby. The police might not know it was safe
to enter the building yet. That gave him some time.
 
Log Man entered the stairwell. He created a pole to carry him up to the roof door, and
stepped outside. He didn’t see any helicopters in the sky. That was good. He ran to
the edge of the roof and dropped down to the ground on another pole hooked to the
rampart of the roof. He walked to the edge of the lot he was in and created the Log
Mobile, and drove away.
 
He pulled into a public parking garage and covered any cameras that looked like they
could see where he parked the Log Mobile. He took it apart and headed into the
public stairwell. He discarded his disguise and walked out of the public entrance. He
headed back to the paper to get his Datsun, and his case.
 
Logan walked along, keeping his eyes open. City Hall would be surrounded by
police. He needed to get his Datsun out of the garage and around all that. He should
call Ken to let him know that he had tried to get into the building and been rebuffed.
 
He hoped that would cover his secret well enough for him not to be on the front page
with everything he had ever done on both sides of the law out for everyone to read.
 
He pulled out his phone and called his editor. If he was going to construct a lie,
he might as well do it.
 
“I don’t have time to talk,” said Ken. “Leave a message.”
 
The phone beeped in Logan’s ear.
 
“I couldn’t get into City Hall to track down Phillips,” said Logan. “Something is
going on. We might need to cover it. Call me back when you have a minute.”
 
He hung up the phone. That went easier than he thought it would. He supposed
Phillips was filling him in on what had happened, and everything that had led up to
it.
 
He used the public access to get into the paper’s parking garage and got behind the
wheel of his Datsun. He drove out of the garage. He still had to worry about the
potential buying problem, and if Buffy was going to drive the price up. He didn’t
need that headache to get worse at all.
 
He was glad that his city didn’t have major villain problems wanting to take him on.
He would be busy all hours of the day and night putting out fires.
 
Logan drove around the mess that Downtown had become with the police on duty
and rolled to the office building his lawyers rented space in. He found parking at a
nearby hotel and went into the building.
 
Ken called as he stepped into the elevator. He went to the back of the cab after
pushing the floor button.
 
“Go ahead, Ken,” Logan said.
 
“We have a first hand account of Log Man trying to talk this guy down from killing
Phillips,” said Ken. “We even have pictures. I’m running this on the front page
tomorrow.”
 
“Do we have turn any of this over as evidence?,” asked Logan. The police were going
to want to shore up their case. Pictures of the crime in action would draw their
interest.
 
“I don’t know,” admitted Ken.
 
“Give them copies anyway,” said Logan. “That way it makes us look good, and it puts
the guy in jail.”
 
“Got it,” said Ken. He hung up.

9
Logan sat at his desk. Things seemed to be quiet in the city now, but he still had to
visit the animal gangs on his way home. They hadn’t left town, and they hadn’t given
him anything. So he had to make their staying in town as painful as possible.
 
He wondered how far he could push them before they broke and pulled out the
hardware. He decided it wouldn’t be long. Then they could see how many of the
weapons matched up with the Garret Shooting.
 
The police hadn’t caught them with weapons yet. Maybe pushing them would get that
much. And just randomly showing up was letting him take their money and destroy
any drugs he might find. That wasn’t making him any fans, except to the charities he
was giving the money too.
 
The only thing that looked outstanding on his billet was the embezzler Phillips
was chasing. If they could nail that down, it would have been a sweet few days
of street justice handed out.
 
He wanted to talk to Phillips about that, but decided there was no use pushing the
man. Either his reporter was chasing it, or he wasn’t. Standing behind him wouldn’t
make the story write itself faster.
 
And financial crimes was one of the most complicated things to unravel and report
on. Even if Phillips had the guy, they might not have all the evidence to do anything
about it.
 
Logan didn’t like the silence. It was his paper’s reputation on the line if Phillips
messed up.
 
At least Teflon Billy was in court. They hadn’t been able to unmask him, but he had
been kept under guard since being in jail.
 
Logan expected his power was allowing him to keep his mask on. It was the only
explanation that jumped to mind. Maybe he could reverse how slick he made things.
If that was the case, the mask could be glued to his face until he wanted to take
it off.
 
And there was no proof of a connection to Lane Gentry.
 
That would have been something to hang everything on. Billy hadn’t talked about
how he had known about the security arrangements, his fence, or if he had been
commissioned to rob the displays for the money.
 
Gentry could still be involved in all of that.
 
And as long as Billy didn’t talk, he could still walk away without worrying about
the law coming down on him.
 
Logan put that out of his mind. He had nothing but suspicion. He couldn’t chase after
a man just because he felt the man was an accessory to a string of thefts across the
country.
 
Maybe he should ask Phillips to check where Gentry was when the other thefts
had taken place. It might link him to the moving of the gems.
 
That was another thing to put on his to do list.
 
Logan thought maybe he could swing enough to buy the group of papers downstate
as long as Buffy didn’t get involved. If that happened, the price for the papers might
be out of reach.
 
Whenever he got involved, sellers thought he would give them a better deal than the
one they were getting from other buyers on the field. It didn’t always go down that
way.
 
There was nothing he could do about that other than beating Buffy with a log. He
smiled at the thought, but put it aside. He couldn’t abuse the power of the wood on
an innocent man’s noggin, no matter how much he wanted to avenge the losses he had
already taken in fair play.
 
On the other hand, if Buffy was cheating somehow, then a whacking was in order.
He looked up as a shadow filled his vision. His editor stood there, looking around
the bullpen.
 
“You seen Phillips?,” asked Ken.
 
“No,” said Logan. “Why?”
 
“He said he was going to call in after he spoke with some people down at City Hall
about a story he was chasing,” said Ken. “I haven’t heard from him. I know he has
been digging for you on some things, and I was wondering if you had talked to him.”
 
“Not today,” said Logan. “He was still trying to nail this embezzler thing the last
I talked to him.”
 
“Embezzler in City Hall?,” asked Ken.
 
“That, or the county office somewhere,” said Logan.
 
“You don’t think he went down to brace the guy himself, do you?,” asked Ken.
 
“I don’t know,” said Logan. “What’s he driving? I’ll go down and check if his car is
in the city lot.”
 
“Thanks,” said Ken. “I’m probably worrying over nothing.”
 
“It’s no problem,” said Logan. “I was going to have to go by there on the way to the
lawyers anyway. What’s he driving?”
 
“It’s an old Crown Victoria,” said Ken. “He bought it off the police department at
an auction.”
 
“Does it still have the police colors on it?,” asked Logan.
 
“They had all that taken off,” said Ken. “It just looks like an old car now.”
 
“All right,” said Logan. “I’ll go down and tell him to call you before I head over to
the lawyers. It should be a snap.”
 
“Thanks, Logan,” said Ken. “In the old days, we wouldn’t have worried if one of our
guys had gone off the grid. Now they might wind up in a trunk somewhere.”
 
“They could have wound up in a trunk in the old days too,” said Logan. He stood and
packed up the papers he had been reading. “We just didn’t care that much if they did.”
 
“You’re right about that,” said Ken.
 
“Don’t worry, Mother Hen,” said Logan. He smiled. “I’ll look out for your lost
chick.”
 
“Thanks a lot,” said Ken. He glanced at one of his other reporters. “Looks like I have
another fire to put out.”
 
Logan took his briefcase full of papers and went down to his parked Datsun. He
stowed them in the back. He headed for a street exit. The government center wasn’t
that far away. He would walk over, look for Phillips, grab something to eat, and then
come back for the papers to go to his lawyers for review.
 
Had Phillips actually tracked the embezzler down? If he had, he would have to prove
things in court. The paper would have to decide on how much they could print before
they were making statements that could be slurs and defamation. Things might get
messy.
 
Logan wasn’t worried about that. The paper had dealt with a lot of people who had
tried to sue for the damage to their careers. Unfortunately for them, the truth won over
any hurt feelings.
 
Logan paused when he saw a build up of police around City Hall. What was
going on? He hadn’t seen any television crews yet. This must have just started.
He walked over to a cop putting up a ribbon barricade. The cop refused to
acknowledge his presence.
 
“Hey, bud,” Logan said. “What’s going on? I’m supposed to talk with some people
about my rotifer.”
 
“You’re going to have to move on,” said the cop. “Nobody is going to be able to talk
to you about your rotifer right now.”
 
“Thanks, Officer,” said Logan. He walked away, looking for concealment on the
street.
 
He wondered at the chances of Phillips being at City Hall and this going on could be
unconnected. He thought it unlikely.
 
A SWAT team should be on the way. After that would be waiting around and hoping
nothing bad happened.
 
He would rather go in and look around for himself. If it was something he couldn’t
handle, he would be glad to give SWAT their chance.
 
The first step was getting in the building while the police seemed to be clearing
everyone out so they could deal with the problem.
 
Logan found a narrow alley between a book store and a coffee place. He gathered
his wooden form over his body, then the cape of leaves. Once the mask was in place,
he had to get across the street and inside the City Hall.
 
Log Man extended a staff out of his hand, using it to get to the roof of the book store.
He leaned it against the building as he looked over at the government center. He
needed to get over and punch through one of the windows to get inside.
 
That part should be easy enough to do.
 
He backed up from the edge of the book store. Then he ran for the edge, summoning
his power. He ran on a platform growing under his feet above the crowd below. He
used a thrown log to bust the window before he got to it. Then he was inside and
listening for anyone who might have heard him.
 
Log Man sighed at the broken glass he had spread over the office. He couldn’t do
anything about it now.
 
He went to the office and looked outside.
 
The police had either cleared this floor already, or the staff had cleared out on their
own when the problems started. It didn’t matter which since the hall seemed empty
so he didn’t have to worry about bystanders getting in his way when he started
punching people in the face.
 
He went to the stairs. SWAT would be setting up soon enough. They would want to
call and open a line to negotiate through. Would their criminal take that chance for
a peaceful resolution?
 
Log Man didn’t know. He expected a shootout in the works if he let things get to
where the police were tired of trying to talk down someone in the middle of having
some kind personal crisis.
 
He went to the stairs. Elevators would just give him away, and he could listen at
the stairwell doors for the police and the bad guy. He decided that the problem was
above him somewhere. He could hear people heading down to the lobby.
 
He worked his way up, checking at each landing. Finally he heard someone ranting.
This had to be the place.
 
He checked the hall. No one else seemed to be around. He crept down the hall,
pausing at the office door that blocked most of the rant that was going on. The
pebbled inset window didn’t block sound, but it concealed the hall from view.
 
Log Man frowned when he heard Phillips trying to reason with his captor. He didn’t
think that was a good move at all.

8
Log Man met the police outside the scene of the crime. The police tape had long been
pulled down, but the damage done was still present. A piece of plywood covered the
window where the bullets had went through the Garret house and killed the little boy.
Divots from other missed shots dotted the rest of the neighborhood from where he
stood.
 
“What are you thinking?,” asked O’Toole. He had brought a few city cops and some
sheriff deputies with him to help with the search.
 
“The animation said the Razorback was standing about right here,” said Log Man. He
walked over to where he remembered the wounded shooter had been marked down.
He made a staff to act as a rifle for him.
 
“He was shooting this way,” said Log Man. He tried to visualize the scene. He
thought he saw where bullets had gone through things in the way to hit houses on the
other side of the street.
 
“Then I think he got shot by an Aardvark,” said Log Man. He turned and pointed his
fake rifle at the window of the Garret house. The trail of holes supported that much.
He seemed to be a few feet off from his estimate. “Then he fell down.”
 
The policemen spread out in a half-circle around the front of the house. Log Man
stood there, looking at the scene.
 
“We know he fell down here while the rest fled,” said Log Man. “We know that he
didn’t have the rifle when they took him in. We know he won’t admit to anything
while we don’t have the rifle. And we don’t think the rest of the gang will turn him
in. So where did he hide it while waiting for the police to get here?”
 
The police shone their lights under the house. Nothing was apparent in the
crawlspace. He hadn’t left it on the ground. Where could he have put it?
 
Log Man knelt down. He looked under the house. He dropped on his back and looked
up. He saw there was a ledge that ran around the edge of the porch floor. He thought
he saw something braced on the ledge.
 
“I think I found it,” said Log Man. He scooted out from under the house. “It’s on the
ledge that runs along the edge there.”
 
“All right,” said O’Toole. “Let’s get the crime scene people down here to take
pictures of this.”
 
Log Man pushed to his feet. He couldn’t get the dust off without taking apart his
costume. He could wait until he was clear of the police before he did that.
 
“It might not be the right weapon,” said Log Man. “It might be some other weapon
from that night.”
 
“Then we run it and see what we can get out of it,” said O’Toole. “Until we match the
weapon to the bullets, we don’t know. But if the bullets match, then we can ask our
wounded victim some questions. Maybe we can get him to flip on some of the
others.”
 
“Good luck on that,” said Log Man. “I’ll call my friend to get the animation for you.
That will be something extra to use in court if you need it.”
 
“All right,” said O’Toole. “Maybe we can use it against the rest of these lunkheads.
The defense is going to say you framed the guy. You might want to take off so you
can avoid any questions.”
 
“I know,” said Log Man. “Maybe you can turn up something else you can use.”
 
Log Man walked over to the Log Mobile and drove away. He thought it would have
been better to confront both gangs at the same time with what they now knew. Maybe
they could have forced something else to the surface.
 
He decided it was better to let the police work on it. They had the manpower and the
resources to make connections that he didn’t have. He would need to have Hailey
deliver the animation and any documents that went with it.
 
He wondered what his reporters would make of this. He didn’t ask them to favor his
exploits. Some actively blamed him for everything wrong that happened in town. He
couldn’t fire for them for that even if it irritated him.
 
He needed to dump his car and costume and take his real self home to pick up his
wife for their date. He wanted to hassle the gangs again, but why bother until after
O’Toole was done.
 
He wondered how long that would be. The wheels of justice ground slow.
 
He pulled the Log Mobile into a parking garage a few buildings over from the paper.
He discarded the car and his costume. He headed down to the public access door and
walked to the paper.
 
Logan had left his Datsun at the paper before going out on his errand. He would do
one more check in, then he would head home.
 
He headed up to the bullpen. He looked over shoulders as he passed. No one had
heard about the finding of the rifle yet. He thought that was good. He didn’t want to
scoop the other papers if it revealed his double life.
 
One day he would write all this down and let it be published. There was no need for
a mask when you were dead.
 
“Have you heard?,” asked Phillips, rushing into the bullpen from the street entrance.
 
“Heard what?,” asked Logan.
 
“The police found the weapon in the Garret shooting,” said Phillips. “They’re
pressing charges.”
 
“Can you verify any of this?,” asked Logan.
 
“Yes, I can,” said Phillips. “I have time to write the story before the deadline.”
 
“Go ahead,” said Logan, checking his watch. “Any progress on your embezzler?”
 
“Not really,” said Phillips. “Maybe I’m on the wrong trail. I was sure, but the money
seems to all be there.”
 
“Write your story,” said Logan. “I have to talk to Ken, and then I have to head home.”
 
“You get your financial thing worked out?,” asked Phillips.
 
“Not really,” said Logan. “I don’t want to lose too much money taking on another
paper. I’m trying to talk them down.”
 
“Good luck with that,” said Phillips. “If something wrong comes up, let me know.”
 
“Sure,” said Logan.
 
Logan found his editor and exchanged words. The city had some rough spots, but
there was nothing Logan could do about it at the moment. Settling the Garret shooting
would do something, but there were more that needed to be answered. He couldn’t
solve all the problems on his own.
 
Ken assured him that everything was running smoothly. The paper would be out on
time.
 
Logan went down to pick up his car. He thought about what his schedule had to be
in the next few days. He thought Gloria had a few things she had to do over the next
few days. Brady had a field trip to Minnesota.
 
He didn’t know if he was supposed to be a chaperone for that trip. He should check
to make sure.
 
He didn’t know if he wanted to ride with a bunch of teenagers while they were on a
trip for the school.
 
He thought about it, and realized he didn’t know what class was going.
 
He chided himself for not remembering the source of the trip. He should know that.
Logan drove home. He decided that he should ask Brady if he was supposed to ride
along as a chaperone.
 
Logan pulled into his driveway and parked his car. They would be taking it back out
when Gloria was ready to go on their date.
 
He hoped something would come from finding the weapon under the house. He had
seen cases where the defense had tried to use him as a reason to dismiss a
prosecution.
 
He expected the same would happen in this case.
 
Logan walked into the house and listened. He heard Gloria singing somewhere. He
nodded as he decided that she was getting ready. Where was Brady?
 
“I’m home,” said Logan.
 
“In the kitchen, Dad,” responded Brady.
 
Logan walked through the house and found his son eating cereal at the kitchen table.
He had a number of books spread out around his bowl so he could read while he ate.
 
“Homework?,” asked Logan. He went to the refrigerator and opened the door. He
searched fruitlessly for something to snack on among the food on the shelves. He
settled for a piece of cheese and getting some milk to put in a glass.
 
“Yeah,” said Brady. “I have to read a bunch of stuff. We’re having tests on this at the
end of the week.”
 
“Don’t you think it will be easier to read all of one thing at a time, than some of it for
a little bit of time, then another bit from something else?,” said Logan.
 
“It’s all boring,” said Brady. “I’m trying to get through it fast, then go back to read
what I think will be relevant more slowly.”
 
“All right,” said Logan. “Don’t let me interfere with your process.”
 
“Where are you taking Mom?,” asked Brady. “She seems to be in a good mood for
your date.”
 
“I don’t know,” said Logan. “The ball is on hold because we busted Teflon Billy
trying to steal the display. Maybe somewhere quiet and intimate.”
 
“Mom might want to go to a movie,” said Brady.
 
“What’s playing?,” said Logan. He had seen ads in his paper, but had just glossed
over them.
 
“I don’t know,” said Brady. “Maybe Mom would like some romantic thing.”
 
“All right,” said Logan. It sounded boring to him. He had enough problems dealing
with people in real life. He didn’t find watching people doing courtship all that
interesting.
 
“Don’t take your phone inside the theater,” said Brady.
 
“Maybe I’ll need to make a call,” said Logan.
 
“Mom will be mad if you do,” said Brady. “Just leave it in the car. The city can do
without you for a bit.”
 
“All right,” said Logan. “Maybe you’re right.”
 
“I know I am,” said Brady. “You’ve trained me to observe people and I think this is
the best course since you blew your original date night.”
 
“I didn’t blow it,” said Logan. “It might not have counted as a date, I’ll give you that.
We still went out and had fun.”
 
“We have different ideas about fun,” said Gloria. She wore a shiny red dress, a
necklace and heels. Her hair was secured behind her head with a silver clip. She
smiled at his reaction. “We’re not going to a movie. Go get your tuxedo and get ready
to go.”
 
“You look great, Mom,” said Brady. “Where is Dad taking you?”
 
“We’re going to a show,” said Gloria. “Go get ready. The curtain time is in an hour.
You’re going to have to hurry.”
 
Logan finished his milk and put the glass down on the sideboard. He kissed his wife
as he passed. He headed for their bedroom to get ready for the night ahead.
He laid out his clothes. He showered and shaved before dressing. He checked himself
in the closet mirror. He looked all right.
 
He went downstairs. Brady had finished reading one section and his cereal. He had
placed the bowl in the sink while he went over the rest of his homework.
 
“You look okay,” said Gloria. She straightened his bow tie. She tugged on his jacket.
 
“Okay?,” said Logan. “I think I look better than okay.”
 
“Self delusion is the first marker of old age,” said Gloria. She smiled at him. “Still
you look almost like James Bond if he was a little less handsome.”
 
“Which one?,” asked Logan.
 
“Woody Allen,” said Gloria.
 
“I bow before your sharp wit, Hon,” said Logan. “I happen to think I resemble
Brosnan.”
 
“No,” said Gloria. “You’re definitely a Woody Allen. All you need is the glasses.”
 
Brady sat at the table. He seemed to be coughing. Logan gave him a look.
 
“Enjoy your date,” said Brady. He waved at them.
 
“The show is over at midnight,” said Gloria. “We’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t stay up
too late.”
 
“Okay,” said Brady.
 
“Come on, Dear,” said Gloria. “You have to drive us downtown.”
 
“What is the show about?,” asked Logan. 
 
“A giant turtle attacking a city,” said Gloria. “They say it’s based on facts covered up
by the government.”
 
“It would almost have to be,” said Logan.

Ikki Kaname earned his hero name at the Battle of Philadephia. He didn't know how much of a difference he made overall, but his ability to control acceleration certainly saved some people from certain death. His reputation has only grown as the hero Go.
CES  

When Meggido put together his plan to do his raid, he hired Dale Petty to handle any transportation problems. Dale agreed. As the Road King, his ability to use any road as a teleport gate was a good way to ensure an escape if it was needed. Dale wound up engaging the SWAT teams and other law enforcement until it was time to leave.
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I need two more heroes and two more options. I would like to option the Orient Express.
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I need two more heroes and two more options. I would like to option the Orient Express.
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Jones Joins is the brick Hammerhead. A member of the wrecking crew, he practically ignored everyone and everything except for smashing through walls and support collems. He miscalculated his survivability when an entire upper building crushed him to death.
 
Well, at least he succeeded in wrecking a building. Pitty it wasn't the one he was hired to destroy...

Total no of villains = 12
Meggido's group = 6
wrecking Group = 3 (+1 named)
Kidnap group = 1
independent villains = 2
 
3 of Meggido's group to be done including Hawkesmythe. Of the two remaining one at least should be a flier see Red Bolt and Burning Eagle's entries
2 of kidnap group to be done
Upto 5 of wrecking group to be done including the speedster Rumbler (see Ghostscythe's entry)
 
4 heroes and 4 villains dead so far. And an unknown number of of police and Jackson Industries staff.
3 villains captured
6 villains escaped (this includes Meggido)

The Tumbler arrived on the scene, using his acrobatic prowess to help where he could. He left in a bag, caught in an explosion and burned beyond all recognition.
CES 

Richard Benson Allard has made a fortune adventuring around the world, discovering hidden gold and other treasures. Allard has also added to an arsenal of magic weapons he has unearthed. He is the most likely of the Capitalists to take a personal hand in things, and uses his various businesses to gather information on regions in case he has to intervene in a problem. He has become known as Doctor Tombs.
CES 

With the optioning of Nora Charles, I have the Thin Man Team. Father Brown is a good cleric, The Thinking Machine and The old Man in the Corner are all logic and deduction  I like to pick some weird things too. I am grabbing up Mr. Harley Quin as my fifth detective.
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Walter Washington created a masked identity for himself when he became a flying brick. Adopting a patriotic suit, he became known as the Burning Eagle for his aura of flames.  He joined the Scions of Liberty and took part in the massive battle, his tremendous strength and natural armor allowing him to put down villain after villain as he protected the civilians fleeing from the scene.
 
Walter had to use deadly force for the first time in his career, and after the battle he retired for the most part. Every once in a while, someone would report a burning trail of energy heading to a natural disaster. no could claim that was the Burning Eagle back on the job
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Annabelle Breslin took part in the Battle of Philadelphia as a member of the Scions of Liberty, but no one knew it. Working under the handle of Invisibelle, she was killed trying to get people out of the way.
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Max Tompkins discovered he had a special link with animals. He became the Animal Controller and used his ability to make animals his henchmen. Since he started his career, He had been opposed by the Great Dan, a man who could turn into a giant dog. When he saw his old enemy at his latest job, he used an experimental ray gun from  the Jackson Industries facility to kill Dan once and for all.
 
Witnesses say that he was electrified by the weapon he used. His body was recovered after the battle was over.
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Burly Mcfane is the new Captain Thunderbolt terrorizing the Outback. No one knows who he is or where he got his suit of armor that gives him command of electricity and magnetism, but more than a few people want to talk to him about it including several people who used to be Captain Thunderbolt themselves.
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My second character is Van Dusen, the thinking machine.
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My second character is Van Dusen, the thinking machine.
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M'Pala the man unicorn has tried for years to conquer parts of Africa. He has run afoul of Joseph N'Longa and other villains and heroes of the area. While not bright, he is capable of punching through thick armor with the horn growing from his head, running and leaping great distances, and calling forth the spirits in the environment around him to wreck havoc.
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The minor hero Cartune arrived in his music mobile to try to help out. He provided a distraction as his loud swing band standards drew the attention of every villian on the scene who all acted to blow his car and him up. That was enough to allow other heroes and police on the scene to drive a wedge in the fighting and start taking prisoners.
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This is slightly off topic, and not addressed at anyone involved in this thread, but reading some of the comments has brought something to mind that I have been thinking about for some time.
 
Also, if the tone seems a bit heated, I apologize in advance, but this is a topic that has been bothering me for a while, again, none of this is addressed to those posting in this thread.
 
Over the many years of my sporadic RPG career, I have done a roughly equal amount of time as a GM and as a Player.
I enjoyed both.
I enjoyed playing because all I had to do was show up with a well-prepared character, or some good ideas if we were creating characters from scratch, and enjoy playing the game.
I enjoyed GM'ing, because it gave me the chance to try my hand at creating an adventure that the players would enjoy, find challenging, and want to continue into a campaign.
 
That is not the only difference.
 
GM'ing is a metric buttload of work.
 
I started out DM'ing AD&D.
You had to create a plot, maps, monsters, treasures, traps, NPC's, atmosphere, background information, interesting things for each character to potentially do (traps and locks for the thief, appropriate stuff for the fighters to fight, people for the cleric to convert or heal, interesting magic stuff for the magic user to find, etc.).
It might take a day of work for each hour the players were going to spend at the table.
 
Champions is a little different, not as much "treasure" but way more NPC's and combat and plot.
 
And I admit that I did enjoy the work I put into creating an adventure, mostly, but it was still work and took up a lot of time, which all of us seem to have less of as the years go by.
 
I also enjoy cooking, and from time to time I invite people over for dinner.
If I invite someone who does not like spicy food, I have no problem accomodating that.
If I invite someone who loves baked beans, I will do my best to work them into the menu.
However, since I am the one buying the ingredients, playing the host, and doing all the work preparing the food, I expect to get a certain amount of apprectiation for going to all the trouble.
After all, there are plenty of restaurants that will cook the food you want, pretty much the way you want it, you just have to pay for it, and the more demanding you are, the more you usually have to pay.
 
There are times when players, and I hope it is mainly players who have never GM'ed, give off a vibe like:
"I want you to go out and buy every possible ingredient for every possible dish.
Clean them, prep them, and have them waiting for my arrival.
When I get there, I expect you to produce exactly the dish I am in the mood for, even though I may not know myself what I want.
You think that you have to right to have some input into what you cook?
How dare you!
You can't bully me into accepting something that you enjoy too, this is all about me!"
 
That example may be a little extreme, but I find the concept that the GM is just another player, with no more right to have the game suit him than anyone else, to be ridiculous.
Maybe everyone else lives in a world that is crowded with GM's begging players to enter their games, but that has never been my experience.
I always felt lucky that someone else was willing to put in all that effort so I didn't have to.
That doesn't mean I would put up with a GM that was rude or abusive, but other than that, I was happy enough to be in a game to cut the GM some slack.
 
I am not saying that the players are just there to act out the GM's play so he can sit back and watch it.
But as much as the word "railroad" has been maligned in the RPG world, it is a great way to get a group of people to the same place at the same time!
Perhaps the concept of "carpool" is more appropriate.
Everyone is trying to get to the same basic place, at around the same time.
If one of the group wants to stop off to pick up some drycleaning, or drop something in the mailbox, that is fine too, as long as everyone gets where they are going in time.
But, if people are saying that if the guy who owns the car, buys the gas, and does all the driving, likes to stop off for a doughnut every morning, he doesn't have that right unless all the passengers want one too, that sounds like B.S. to me.
 
After all, if someone just wants to come up with a story where their character, and all the faceless drones that follow it around, does exactly what he wants in a world made to accomodate him, they can do that.
They call it writing a story.
But to expect someone else to spend their time writing one for you, that exactly matches your desires, with little to no input from them, seems a little selfish.
 
For one thing, if the GM is not the guiding the plot, who is?
 
I always see comments about "the players", but if you think about it, would all the players want exactly the same thing?
I mean obviously, if you start out with a bank being robbed, and one player wants to kill off the robbers by beheading them with her power sword, and one player wants to use his negotiation skills to talk the robbers out of a life of crime, and one player wants to go to the library across the street and research the history of the Federal Reserve, and the final player wants to have their character strike up a romance with one of the "rough-edged but dangerously attractive" bank robbers, you can't pursue all of those threads at the same moment, especially since the bank robbery is only being staged as a distraction while Viper is stealing the McGuffin across town and the players probably need to figure that out, if not now, at least soon.
 
So, do you stop for a vote after each turn so see which direction the players want to jump?
 
I believe that the problem is often not "The Players are not able to have Their characters do the things They want to."
but instead,
"I am not able to have My character do exactly what I want to, (and have all the other players and the rest of the game world go along with me)!"
 
I have never seen someone suggest that the players should take some sort of vote, or express their opinions on which direction the game should go, it always seems to be assumed that if that power-mad GM would just get out of the way of the person who is talking, everyone else could follow them to the promised land.
 
After all, if you are going to only please one person at the table, it might as well be the person who does all the work, not the person who does nothing but complain about the work that has been done, without actually contributing anything that would also make the other players happy.
 
For some reason, many players seem to think that if the game was just run the way they want it to be, every thing would be great.
 
And that's fine, if someone thinks they can do a better job than the GM, they should give it a try.
 
Do the work.
Spend the time.
Come up with the kind of plot you like.
Guide the game in the direction you see fit . . .
 
Oh, but wait, isn't that railroading?  
😁
 
ka.

Ready because I don't have a plan
CES

Richard Benson Allard has made a fortune adventuring around the world, discovering hidden gold and other treasures. Allard has also added to an arsenal of magic weapons he has unearthed. He is the most likely of the Capitalists to take a personal hand in things, and uses his various businesses to gather information on regions in case he has to intervene in a problem. He has become known as Doctor Tombs.
CES