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The Greatest American Hero “Here's Looking at You, Kid” (part 6 of 6)
In a back hallway downstairs, Ralph is looking for Bill when he suddenly becomes visible again. He’s instantly noticed by the consulate security guy watching the cameras, so nice to know they’re on top of things, in case you’re thinking of renting out the place.
The security guy starts to report “Unidentified man in first floor hallway, wearing—” …but he can’t even bring himself to describe Ralph’s costume over an open comm, so he breaks off and says, “Never mind!” Wow, so that’s the secret to breaking into secure locations: Wear an outlandish costume too embarrassing for security dudes to describe aloud! That explains Lady Gaga, anyway. You think she wears that stuff just for kicks?
“There’s a man prowling the first floor of the consulate wearing red pajamas, repeat, red paja—oh, wait, it’s Hugh Hefner. Never mind.”
Ralph finds the storage room where they’re holding Bill, and concentrating very carefully, he realizes he can control his visibility and fade out again. Now invisible, he opens the door to the storage room and sucker-punches the guard. Now, that’s really not fair.
On their way out, Bill picks up the unconscious guard’s semi-automatic.
Invisible Ralph: You’re not going to shoot anybody with that, are you?
Bill: Of course not. I’m going to pick my teeth with it.
Bill: Of course not. I’m going to pick my teeth with it.
Man, this guy is made of awesome.
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Mark "Scooter" Wilson
Mark is a history guy, a graphics guy, a guy for whom wryly cynical assessments of popular culture are the scallion cream cheese on the toasted everything bagel of life. He spends his time teaching modern history at Brooklyn College, pondering the ancient Romans at the CUNY Graduate Center, and conjuring maps and illustrations for ungrateful bankers at various Manhattan monoliths. Readers are welcome to guess at reasons why he's nicknamed Scooter, with the proviso that all such submissions are guaranteed to be rather more interesting than the truth. Mark lives in the Midwood section of Brooklyn with a happy-go-lucky, flop-eared dog named Chiyo who is probably, at this very moment, waiting patiently for her walkies.
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