John followed his quarry down the street. It was late and there was hardly anyone else in sight. They had travelled barely a block before a gang of three men stepped out of an alley and stood in front of Guy, blocking his path. John held back, hiding in the shadows, his pulse beating faster as he waited to see what would happen next. He was sure Guy would have some supernatural way of handling himself, but what if he was wrong?

“Hand over your phone and wallet,” demanded one of the men, stretching out a hand.

“Or what?” asked Guy, hands on his hips.

The man gave a disbelieving laugh. “Or we’ll beat you to a pulp, faggot!” He gave Guy a hard push in the chest making him stagger back several steps.

John waited, poised on his toes, wondering if he would have to step in. He could hardly stand by and watch a man get beaten up.

But before he could make up his mind, the three men rushed at their prey. John couldn’t see exactly what Guy did but suddenly all three men appeared to slip and fall heavily. Two crashed into each other, knocking their heads together painfully, while the third landed flat on his back and cracked his head on the pavement. He didn’t move.

Gripping his weapon with one hand and hauling his badge out with the other, John strode forward to the group of men. “Police! Hands where I can see them, right now!”

Guy raised his hands immediately but the two assailants who were still conscious didn’t move, simply blinking up at John with dazed eyes. The third man was out cold. John would have bet a week’s wages they all three had concussion.

John pointed his gun at Guy. “Keep them up, Mister.”

“Hullo, Masters,” said Guy cheerfully. “You don’t need the gun, you know. I think we’re on the same side here.”

John didn’t answer, but spoke into his phone, calling for back up and an ambulance—careful to keep his gun trained on Guy.

“How did you do that?” he asked, unable to help himself.

Guy shrugged, and smiled. “They slipped.”

Very carefully, John eased behind Guy and cuffed his wrists together. Only then did he stop to look at the ground, searching for an oil slick or something which would cause the men to fall like that. A large patch of oil met his probing eyes. He was almost certain it hadn’t been there minutes before, when Guy’d walked over that same stretch of ground.

“How did you do that?” he asked again, despite himself.

“Practice,” said Guy, with another smile. Then he was serious for a moment, meeting John’s irritated gaze. “I didn’t pluck the oil out of thin air—I just moved it from one place to another. From inside that car engine there, out onto the pavement.”

“So you admit you have special... powers?” John was incredulous.

“Superpowers, yes. But I use them for good. I guess you could call me a superhero,” admitted Guy, trying—and failing—to look modest.

Half fearful, half jubilant, John bundled Guy into the police car which had just pulled up at the same time as the ambulance. All three muggers were loaded into the ambulance and driven off to hospital along with a police guard.

~~~

“Careful,” said John as he entered the police station, pushing Guy ahead of him. “Keep your eyes on this one. He’s dangerous.”

The other officers looked doubtfully at Guy’s slender figure. At that moment, Alison hurried into the room and went straight over to John. “What’s the story?” she asked. “Why did you call me in?”

“I’ve got one of them,” answered John, trying to keep a lid on his excitement. Alison frowned slightly and he realised she didn’t understand. “Remember those people I was talking to you about? The ones with special powers? I’ve got one—this man, Guy Travers. I saw him bring down three men by levitating a patch of oil out of a car onto the pavement under their feet.”

Alison frowned more heavily.

“It’s true,” said John. “He can move objects with his mind. And he’s the one I saw disappear into thin air in that alley. He calls himself a ‘Superhero’.”

Instead of excited approval, John saw anger flood suddenly into Alison’s face. She looked livid.

“This isn’t funny, John! This has gone beyond a joke!”

He looked round. Two officers were openly chuckling while the rest were fighting to keep smiles off their faces. An icy cold feeling trickled down John’s back.

He looked over at Guy and saw that his coat was now unbuttoned and gaping wide open, revealing sparkly yellow shorts over black tights, and even worse, he was wearing a teeshirt with a batman logo.

“Actually that’s not quite correct, Detective Masters,” Guy was saying earnestly. “Batman was never technically a Superhero, because he didn’t have Super Powers. Just access to the Batcave and a lot of cool technology.”

“But... I saw...”

“It was a neat trick, wasn’t it? I saw that patch of oil on the pavement and I backed up just enough to make the muggers step right in it. Worked a treat!”

John just had enough sense left to keep his mouth shut, this time. His whole case had been well and truly sabotaged.

Guy burbled on happily. “I hope those guys aren’t hurt too badly, but honestly, I don’t have much sympathy. They would have creamed me if they could have.”

Guy was still talking as John removed the handcuffs with gritted teeth.

“I’m sorry to be a trouble, officers, but I’m afraid I left the Batmobile in the Batcave. How am I going to get home from here?” He sounded anxious for the first time.

“I’m sure Detective Masters will be happy to drive you home,” said Alison in a steely voice which brooked no argument. “After he apologises!” She glared at John.

“Of course, no problem,” agreed her reluctant partner. Alison tapped her foot, waiting.

“And I apologise for the misunderstanding,” added John, stiffly.