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and didn’t drop the whole Flying Detective
thing right now, the next raid wouldn’t be against Central City. It would be
against me. The last five pages of the note were just graphic descriptions of
what was going to happen to me if I didn’t heed this warning. It wasn’t
pleasant reading. It almost made me sick.
    I asked the
creature who the message was from. Did Napoleon write this? But he didn’t
reply. He was waiting for me to sign a piece of paper indicating I had received
the message, and for any tip I might feel he had earned. As I signed the
receipt, and stiffed him as far as the tip was concerned, I noticed there was a
faint whirring noise coming from him.
    “You should see a
doctor about that whirring noise,” I advised.
    He looked a
little alarmed, then defiant. He took the receipt book I had signed, pocketed
his pen and walked quickly away, the propeller on his ass whirring even louder.
    In a case of
unfortunate timing, the next day was the day I was to be given the Key to the
City for my unstinting efforts to protect life and property in Central City. I
would have preferred to have made my announcement at some other time, when
there weren’t so many smiling faces looking up at me, but it had to be done
now. I don’t believe in ignoring warnings from super villains. It isn’t
healthy.
    So, after they
had given me the Key, and I had made a long rambling self-congratulatory
acceptance speech, I announced my retirement. The Flying Detective, I told
them, was no more.
    “My job here is
done,” I told the stunned audience. “Up, Down, Away, and Goodbye.”
    As
I was leaving the podium, they took back the Key To The City I had just been
given. I was disappointed about that. I figured it would have opened some doors
for me. Not professionally, you understand. Just some doors.
     

CHAPTER FIVE
    So my career as
The Flying Detective was over. And it was only Chapter Five. It was with a
trace of sadness that I packed away my costume, my extra pairs of underwear, and
my junior grappling hooks. They were useless now, except for whatever
historical importance they might have.
    I didn’t put away
my jet pack. I still wanted to use that for occasional flights down to the post
office to mail letters, or for quick trips to the bathroom. It beats walking.
    It was while I
was packing these things away that the Mayor and Police Commissioner Brenner
stormed into my office.
    “I can’t believe
what I’ve heard,” said the Mayor. “You’re quitting? I can’t believe I heard
that.”
    “You want to hear
it again?”
    “No.”
    The Commissioner
eyed me bleakly. “Why are you quitting?”
    I showed them the
threatening message I had received, and held my hand up in the air to show how
big the creature was who had delivered it.
    “But you’ve got
super powers!” protested the Mayor. “Nothing can harm you. You said so yourself
when we hired you.” He crumpled up the threatening message and threw it in the
wastebasket. “Now get back to work.”
    I was about to
tell him that I didn’t really have super powers, that I’d been playing them for
suckers all this time, and that every one of those bullets that had been fired
into me had really hurt, but I changed my mind at the last moment. Telling the
truth, though the right thing to do, kids, has never worked out too well for me.
I figured I’d better stick with lying on this one.
    “He also
possesses super powers and abilities,” I informed them somberly. “Powers even
greater than my own. I cannot defeat him. So get yourself another boy. I quit.”
    Important people
don’t like taking “no” for an answer. That’s how you can tell they’re
important. The two men stamped around my office for nearly an hour, yelling at
me. They said they’d sue me, jail me, denounce me, disgrace me, even revoke my
P.I. license and throw it in my super face. I said that was better than killing
me, which is what the super villain was going to do. I said if they