Meanwhile, Our Hero learns of a four-alarm fire downtown. He bursts out of his basement apartment and ascends the stairs two at a time to street level. Once he is outside, he sprints down the block towards the Taurus wagon that serves as his latest Justice Car. As he reaches the end of he block, he discovers with great, full throat tightening, horror that some villain has booted the Justice Car. Once again, his arch nemesis at the municipal parking authority, has attempted to keep Our Hero from his heroic duties, but this attack will fail, for Our Hero has mastered public transportation. He sprints back to his apartment and grabs a handful of change. He pauses as he realizes that his costume has no pockets and he will need to have his hands free in order to save the residents of the burning building. “Pockets!” Our Hero shouts, still clutching the change, “I must have pockets!” An idea pops into Our Hero’s head. He runs to his bedroom, drops to floor and feels around under his bed until he finds a bright green fanny pack Our Hero’s mother gave him as a birthday present. He stows the handful of change in the fanny back before he clips it around his waist.
For the second time tonight, Our Hero bursts out of his apartment and ascends the stairs to the street, but instead of dashing to the justice car, he sprints to the bus stop and waits thirty minutes for the next bus. When it arrives, Our Hero leaps on board, drops change from the fanny pack into the fare collector and tells the bus driver, “You must hurry! I’m needed at the fire!”
The bus driver rolls his eyes and says, “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Your city will be grateful.”
The other passengers do not sit near Our Hero. They glance over their shoulders, but turn away quickly when Our Hero smiles and waves to them. He assumes it is because they are bashful. A mother and her son get on he bus at the 23rd street stop. They sit down in the row in front of Our Hero. After the bus pulls away the boy turns around and asks, “Are you a real superhero?” His mother tells the boy to leave Our Hero alone.
“It’s fine mam,” Our Hero says to the mother, “he’s just curious.” To the boy he says, “Yes, I am a real superhero. I’m Mr. Justice.”
“How come I’ve never heard of you?”
“I’m sure you have. I’m the city’s most famous crime fighter.”
“No,” the boy says, “I would remember that. I remember everything. Are you sure you’re a real super hero?”
“I assure you that I am.”
“If you’re a superhero, why are you riding the bus?”
Our Hero blushes as he tries to think of a response. “That’s enough,” The boys mother says, “leave the man alone.”
The boy turned around and whispered loud enough for Our Hero to hear, “I don’t think he’s a real superhero.”
Our Hero steps off the bus three blocks from the fire and runs the remaining distance. By the time he arrives, the fire fighters have extinguished the blaze and are busy packing up their trucks. No one appears to have been hurt.